Devil
by Fatality
Summary: (Champions of Thultanthar - Book V) The sudden resurrection of Aveil Arthien has brought rise to a host of questions that High Prince Telamont cannot answer. Knowing that Hadrhune's loyalties have been compromised the Most High turns now to Fourth Prince Aglarel - the most enigmatic, ruthless, and indisputably loyal of all the Princes of Shade - to seek the answers he requires.
1. That Devil, Observant

That Devil, Observant

The streets were complete bedlam as phaerimm scuttled about, smashing in windows of every private residence they came to with their spindly, too-thin arms and setting upon the unfortunate Shadovar they found within using their hideous gaping maws or worse, the deadly stinger barb affixed to their tails that secreted their killing toxins. The shrieks of the High Prince's subjects were jarring but not distracting to him – they were background music, however unsettling. The sound didn't guide his steps. It seldom did.

Often he had to glance over his shoulder and bark a reminder to his eldest brother, for First Prince Escanor was easily distracted by the senseless slaughter of innocent Shadovar – but then, this was unsurprising, for this had always been Escanor's way. He was a credit to the Most High in all things that involved politics and diplomacy, and when it came to sheer strength of arm only Fifth Prince Clariburnus, the supreme commander of the illustrious Army of Shade, could best him. But the compassion that Escanor felt for all those around him was oftentimes quite irksome – especially in times of war such as these, when his idiotic empathetic tendencies forced those around him to become his babysitters. If there was anything that Fourth Prince Aglarel detested, it was coddling those around him.

For the most part his eyes were fixed to a singular focal point ahead of him, which he now judged to be less than a mile away – the Hall of the Arts Martial, which now they rushed toward with all haste. He had been one of only two of the Most High's sons that had been present in the Palace Most High when the phaerimm had begun to infiltrate the city's defenses, and the High Prince had given him the singular charge to meet up with Escanor as he charged through the streets alone after Soleil like Lancelot rushing to defend Guinevere. This decree Aglarel had followed readily enough, as always, though it irritated him that Escanor's thoughtless decisions were the reason Aglarel had been forced to leave the High Prince's side. Not that he feared for the High Prince in this instance, for Telamont was more capable than anyone else in all the Realms of dispatching a handful of unwelcome phaerimm – no, it was more a matter of duty and principle. For all the Most High's agents' talk of being closer to Telamont than any other, no one was foolish enough to believe it. Everyone knew without being told just who claimed that honor.

Aglarel's eyes swept the rooftops as he sprinted along and he at last caught sight of his quarry – Third Prince Lamorak, leader of the Determinist's Guild, and several of his retainers had fled from their place of office not long ago when the phaerimm force had proven too overwhelming for them to keep at bay, and now they were bound for the Hall where Clariburnus and Tenth Prince Rapha were commanding the soldiers into action in a desperate attempt to lend arms to the ailing forces that had amassed in the defense of the Church of Shar. With the ability to shadow walk denied to them – a trick of the lichdrow Lim Tal'eyve, Aglarel assumed – they had no choice but to traverse the rooftop catwalks on foot. Not that this was an issue – the Princes of Shade kept themselves in the peak of physical shape at all times, and almost never found themselves in a situation too adverse to overcome.

Several of the phaerimm in the streets below seemed to note the passing of the Third Prince and his small group of Determinists skipping along the rooftops overhead; in a symphony of awful, chilling shrieks and a flashing of cruel claws they began to scale the sides of the buildings nearest to their prey - coordinating their attack, no doubt, using their mysterious telekinetic language. Aglarel spared one last cursory glance over his shoulder for Escanor, who seemed to sense the imminent danger ahead of them and was at last settling into his warrior's focus, before picking up the pace, using his innate grace and dexterity to leap from rooftop to rooftop and steadily close the distance between the aberrations and their brother. Aglarel outpaced Escanor easily – his body was compact and agile, and he prided himself on his speed – and fell upon the first phaerimm unfortunate enough to be within his reach. The creature was smaller than its kin tended to be but no less bloodthirsty in battle, but it hadn't seen or heard his stealthy approach and had barely lifted its frail arms in defense before Aglarel set upon it with his enchanted dagger.

The dagger was his treasured weapon, and he made it a point to eliminate as many of the Most High's enemies as was feasibly possible with it. It had been one of the High Prince's gifts to Aglarel on the day he had become a shade; there were many powerful enchantments bound up in the blade, but his favorite of these was the vampiric property that allowed him to claim an enemy's vitality every time the weapon tasted that enemy's flesh. This energy Aglarel absorbed and used to regenerate his own body – often this wasn't necessary, as the Fourth Prince was a formidable adversary indeed in any combat, but there was something to be said for sapping an enemy's strength and adding it to your own. He felt the rush of life as it left the phaerimm and sped through the hilt of the dagger and surged into his own arm, and suddenly the weariness that had been slowly settling into his muscles all but melted away as his stamina was replenished by the phaerimm's stolen energy. He dug the tip of the ensorcelled blade in deeper, stealing every last mote of the phaerimm's life force and assimilating it into his own body until the creature had nothing left to give, and when it lay dead at the end of his blade Aglarel kicked it remorselessly away from him and took a private measure of delight when its carcass careened over the edge of the building and crumpled lifelessly to be trampled by its own kind hundreds of feet below.

The commotion had alerted Lamorak and his Determinists to the presence of both their foes and their allies, who made quick work of the few aberrations that had come scuttling up the walls in their direction, and with Escanor bringing up the rear Aglarel rushed ahead to take point with Lamorak close at his heels.

"It's good that you have come!" shouted the Third Prince as they ran, and though his fine Determinist's robes were riddled with tears from grasping phaerimm claws and holes from misfired spells he seemed to be mostly unharmed. "What news?"

"We've come from the Determinist's Guild," Aglarel explained, sheathing his dagger upon his hip. "It is now overrun."

Lamorak spared him an incredulous glance, which at first Aglarel did not understand until his older brother exclaimed, "But Soleil stayed behind to cover my escape! Is she – "

"Unharmed," Aglarel drawled uninterestedly, for he had never really understood the deep-seated fascination most of his brothers had for the waif. "Using her link she detected trouble in The Circle – it seems Lim Tal'eyve is the cause of this disturbance. She has gone to aid Brennus and Hadrhune against him – the Archmistress is there, and for whatever reason she seems to be the lichdrow's target."

"Doubtless the Spider Queen has charged him with eliminating her, as was the case not long ago in Neverwinter," Lamorak supposed, and that was the moment when Aglarel flung out an arm and caught his brother across the chest, thus stopping him in his tracks.

They had reached the last of the abodes in the Lower District before the commoner's housing gave way to the massive pyramidal structure that was the Hall of the Arts Martial. Damage to the Hall's exterior was extensive, and the southern section where the youngest warriors were housed was aglow with flames; squinting through the plumes of smoke wafting off the wreckage, Aglarel thought he could make out the familiar enchanted glaive that was the favored weapon of Fifth Prince Clariburnus. By the time Aglarel had confirmed this to be true Escanor had joined them, and they surveyed the devastation with calculating gazes and hands holding fast to weapons.

"There's nothing else for it," Escanor told them gravely, clutching his greatsword in both hands and gazing sagely toward the flames that by now had engulfed about one fourth of the Hall. "A frontal assault is our best option at this point. We haven't the time to prepare some great siege… There are too few of us, and too little time."

Aglarel said nothing; there was no dissuading Lancelot from his gallant charge. Instead he simply nodded his assent and led the way, leaping from the precipice of the private residence and into the fray.

The defenses that Clariburnus and Rapha had amassed around the perimeter of the Hall of the Arts Martial were formidable, but they were only tentatively holding; the phaerimm were swarming all over the brave militaristic forces that called themselves the Army of Shade, their claws tearing and their maws gnashing and their horrible foreign magic wrecking havoc on the more weak-willed soldiers among them. For his part Aglarel was seldom affected by attacks of this nature, and so continued to wade his way through the aberrations as he made his way toward the place where Clariburnus and Rapha, along with a dozen senior members of the Hall of the Arts Martial, had chosen to make their stand. He reached Rapha first, all the while cutting his way mercilessly through the phaerimm that dared to place themselves in his path, and the hexblade cast him an unappreciative expression along with a snort of disgruntled greeting.

"You're late," snapped Rapha viciously, even as he lopped the head off a lunging phaerimm, pivoted on his back heel, and skewered another one through its gaping maw.

Again, Aglarel chose to say nothing. Of all the High Prince's progeny, he despised Rapha perhaps most of all – the Tenth Prince's inherent impatience and his generally volatile nature made him, in Aglarel's eyes, unfit to serve the High Prince in even the most menial of tasks. Yet there was no denying that he was vicious on the field of battle, and Aglarel had long suspected that this trait was the one thing that kept the High Prince from banishing the impertinent little brute from the city altogether.

One voice echoed over the ruined courtyard then, belonging to the warrior to whom every Shadovar soldier was most beholden – Fifth Prince Clariburnus, supreme commander of the Army of Shade. He was leading a small counteroffensive even as he spoke, his glaive flashing as he activated its killing frost enchantment and his black glass armor cracked and flecked with the blood of his enemies. "Left flank, form up! The defenses must hold, on your lives! If you buckle, or if you flee, and I learn of it… suffice it to say there will be no place in this army for any of you!"

Aglarel moved then, flitting through the enclosing ranks of phaerimm like a ghost, and found himself at Clariburnus's side with his vampiric dagger in one hand and several poison-tipped throwing knives in the other. "The flank?"

"It's good you have come!" Clariburnus hailed him, seemingly unaware of the assassin's approach until he had spoken. As Aglarel watched his brother crouched beneath a flailing phaerimm arm, rolled beneath the sweep of a phaerimm tail, and stabbed his glaive down in between two of the hard grooves in the aberration's carapace and punctured the fleshy skin beneath; the unfortunate creature twitched at the end of the blade briefly before falling limp, and Clariburnus tore the weapon's tip remorselessly from the creature's back. "Rivalen sent a forward scout from the Church of Shar, who was able to report to me before his life was claimed by the phaerimm. The Church is overrun and now they have no choice but to evacuate or risk falling before the thornbacks. They are en route now."

Aglarel cut his gaze to the south, where the Church of Shar loomed over the Lower District like an overprotective parent always one step too near to an unwilling child. On the outside it appeared that the structure was intact and had suffered little damage to its exterior, but the smoke that billowed upward from the base of the church suggested that perhaps fighting there had wrecked more devastation than its appearance would imply. He couldn't help feeling a little surprised at the news that Second Prince Rivalen, as pragmatic as they came, had issued the retreat order when it was clear that their escape route would be smothered the instant he and his priests set foot out the door, but then he recalled from his brief glimpse into the world window in the Palace Most High that Sixth Prince Yder had also been present for mass when the initial attack had commenced. Yder was a Champion of the Faith, a holy warrior whose actions in battle were somehow guided by the Night Mother's will, and he knew that if there was any chance now of the Priests of Shar escaping with their lives all hope lay with Yder.

One shade against dozens of phaerimm seldom ended well.

"I will meet them," he told Clariburnus tersely, and his brother nodded once and hefted his glaive; Aglarel skirted around him, the tattered hem of his assassin's shroud trailing after him as he dashed beneath a lunging phaerimm, and he spared half a second of his precious time to slash the creature's tongue from its gaping maw as he passed before he was gliding noiselessly through the battlefield in the direction of the Church –

Suddenly for no reason at all the phaerimm began shrieking, their awful telepathic cries enough to scatter any rational man's thoughts for at least a handful of seconds, before one by one they were winking out of existence. Hundreds of the aberrations became dozens, dozens became handfuls, and then they had all vanished without a trace. Aglarel turned back to face Clariburnus, the nearest of his brothers, who was still clutching his glaive in both hands as though he half expected their foes to rematerialize at any moment.

_Aglarel,_ a familiar voice whispered in his mind, and the Fourth Prince sank into his subconscious to better receive the will of the Most High. _Return with your brothers at once to the palace. There has been a development… It is likely that soon I will have work for you._

_At once, Holy Father,_ Aglarel responded obediently, and lifting his head he completed a quick scan of the battlefield. By that time Clariburnus had strapped his glaive into place diagonally upon his back and was approaching with a dumbfounded expression upon his face; a little further back Escanor and Lamorak were organizing the remaining soldiers and trying to get a better estimate of those who had been wounded, and a distant precession suggested that Rivalen, Yder, and the Priests of Shar were quickly closing the distance to the Hall. He set his gaze upon Clariburnus, who seemed to be awaiting further instructions. "The High Prince has commanded our immediate return to the audience hall – I presume that the sudden disappearance of the phaerimm means that the ability to shadow walk has returned to us."

He hardly saw the point in offering the same explanation to the rest of his brothers, instead stepping through a tear in the fabric of reality that separated the Material Plane from the Plane of Shadow; once there he breathed in deeply, grateful to find himself within the perpetual blackness of that dark realm, before setting off at once for the palace. The High Prince had requested his presence. Shar forbid he be made to wait.

* * *

Aglarel was unsurprised to find the audience hall empty when he peeled his body away from the thick curtain of shadows that always enveloped the chamber and admitted himself into the Most High's presence. The rest of the High Prince's progeny would allow themselves a cursory moment for idle conversation, a few seconds' worth of formulating their own theories and suppositions for what may have occurred to drive such a great number of their most hated enemies away so suddenly. Aglarel had no interest in speculation or pointless chitchat. He had only the capacity to hear his father's bidding and ensure that his will was carried out as quickly and efficiently as possible.

His place before the High Prince's throne was fourth from the right; he claimed it automatically and knelt down to the ground, his left knee braced against the ground bearing most of his weight, his head respectfully bowed and his eyes fixed upon the smooth black marble floor beneath him. High Prince Telamont wasted no time – most likely because he could sense the others were already en route to the audience hall themselves – in descending the short staircase that led to the dias on which his throne sat and tugging Aglarel back to his feet. Aglarel responded to his father's urgency in kind. "Impose your will on me, Holy Father."

High Prince Telamont was tall and slight, his frail appearance masking the terrifying power he was capable of. He had been the first of the Netherese archwizards to claim mastery over the eccentric and altogether foreign sect of magic known as the Shadow Weave, the dark art that the goddess Shar shared with only a chosen few she deemed worthy. Once long ago he had been known as Lord Shadow, one of the most prominent and prestigious leaders in all of Netheril, and he had been the only one strong enough to seek a temporary refuge for the city he commanded when the cataclysm known as Karsus' Folly had befallen their entire race. The Realm of Shadow, a lightless place that was too harsh for most surface dwellers to survive for very long, had become a sanctuary for those living within the displaced Netherese enclave called Thultanthar; there they had lived for seventeen centuries while Telamont fully committed himself and his loyal subjects unto the essence of the shadow, until his extensive knowledge of shadow magic enabled them to not only coexist peaceably upon that foreign plane but harness that dark energy into their very souls. Once Telamont had finally secured a way to return their city to the Material Plane the Netherese was a race much changed, and the Shadovar had been born in its place; here on the Material Plane, where their kind were both feared and revered, they were closer to gods than any other mortals that yet inhabited the Realms.

"I need time to better assess the situation," Telamont said brusquely, his platinum eyes veritably burning within his shadow swathed face. "What remained of Lim Tal'eyve seems to have been utterly destroyed, but we would be foolish indeed to assume that the story of the Anointed Blade of the Jaezred Chaulssin ends here. No, I think it is safe to say that we have not seen the last of that one."

Aglarel nodded obediently, considering. In truth he knew little about the undead drow who called himself Lim Tal'eyve, save that a prophecy set down by a fanatical sect of renegade male drow known as the Jaezred Chaulssin named him as the wielder of the sacred blade that would one day sever the Spider Queen's head from her body. He knew also that the drow's life had ended before those plans had come to any real fruition, that he had been reborn an undead emissary of Lolth and reshaped the hierarchy of the Bloodstone Lands, and that even his lichdom had been ended before he had accomplished anything of any real consequence to the Spider Queen. Now as Aglarel understood it the drow was becoming a threat yet again, only this time his machinations simply ran counter to the High Prince's interests. Aglarel knew nothing of Lim Tal'eyve and had no real grievance against him, but if he was an enemy of the Most High there was no better reason for the Fourth Prince to place himself directly between the dark elf and his ultimate goals.

"What do you require of me?" Aglarel asked softly, for now the shadows around the audience chamber were solidifying as several of the other members of the High Prince's esteemed Shadow Council began to join them.

Telamont clapped his son upon the shoulder briefly before moving past him, murmuring, "I require you, for now, to be vigilant on my behalf. We will talk more when all the others have gone."

Aglarel watched his sovereign cross the audience hall shrewdly from beneath the low-pulled cowl of his assassin's shroud, carefully assessing the High Prince's length of stride and attitude of gait with a practiced eye. Telamont's every step was slightly quickened and longer than he generally preferred to walk, and the tense set of his shoulders coupled with the intense crease in his brow only served to confirm that which the Fourth Prince already knew – his father was vexed not by what had already occurred, but by some decision he had yet to make or some situation he had already anticipated that he found to be less than favorable. When the shadows of the first of the council members to return to the palace had fully solidified, Aglarel understood what had the High Prince so agitated; Hadrhune, the Right Hand of the Most High and Telamont's chief shadow sorcerer, had returned with Soleil in tow, bearing the body of the woman Aglarel knew as Archmistress of the Citadel of Assassins, Aveil Arthien.

Telamont spoke in soft, harried tones with his chosen emissary before cutting his gaze Aglarel's way. "We will return to the medical wing. Send Rivalen to me the moment he has returned – let nothing deter him from joining me with all haste."

The Fourth Prince had no qualm with this and so bent briefly at the waist. "As you command, Holy Father."

He watched them depart without another word, shadowing their speedy retreat with his characteristic disinterest. Leave the rest of the High Prince's sons to form their own conjectures – Aglarel had never had any use for idle speculation, only truth. And the fact of the matter was that Aveil Arthien was about as dead as a mortal could get, but also that the High Prince was already working to divine a way to change her final fate if such a means was left available to him.

In life, Aveil Arthien had been little more than a thorn in the side of anyone who had the supreme misfortune of meeting her. Her rise to prominence in the less-than-reputable society that was the Citadel of Assassins had been promising, but it was also littered with her first sloppy attempts at betrayal and seduction – two arts that she had long since perfected and refined, Aglarel had to admit. She had arrived at the Citadel seeking refuge from powerful enemies and had found a useful ally in then Archmage Knellict, who had provided her with what he must have viewed as the necessary tutelage for her survival. Her innate mastery of all magics of the ice property, coupled with an uncanny affinity for the school of psionics, had eventually made her a threat to the Archmage – she had murdered the man at the first feasible opportunity, if memory served. Afterward she had claimed Knellict's lofty mantle as her own and taken to the road – where in one fell swoop, it seemed, she managed to topple a fearsome elder fang dragon, aid in the uprising of the Jaezred Chaulssin, and ultimately land herself on the wrong side of Lim Tal'eyve. The details of her life thereafter became a little hazy for Aglarel only because he simply didn't care enough to become well versed with them, but she had placed herself in Thultanthar's way shortly after the High Prince's most recent birthday celebration had gone awry by admitting herself into the city completely unannounced and taking up arms against Hadrhune. Aglarel had been particularly furious with her arrival, for as the head of the High Prince's security and the one Telamont charged with the upkeep of the city's defenses it had spelled a grievous error on Aglarel's part. So Aglarel had gritted his teeth and shouldered the blame without complaint – what was the point in arguing when it was clear that he had failed? – before doubling the strength of his security countermeasures, cursing the impertinent snow elf all the while.

She had committed the same gross disregard for their entire society just days later, and bypassed the security measures a second time. This had been especially infuriating for Aglarel for two reasons – the first of which being that he had been punished quite severely for his oversight, the second of which being that he knew beyond the shadow of any doubt that the wizard had barely broke a sweat slipping through defenses that had taken him hours to lay.

Predictably enough she had landed herself in the High Prince's dungeon awaiting a single testimony that would either ensure her safety or utterly condemn her beyond redemption, and there they had finally had the opportunity to exchange words. Despite her complete disregard for the natural order of things and her near-constant meddling in affairs that were far beyond her, Aglarel had always been quite taken with Aveil – he found the petty concerns of lesser creatures rather amusing, after all, and so had housed her whilst she had landed herself in a meaningless squabble with Hadrhune. That had been just hours ago – now all that remained of the Archmistress was a quickly-cooling corpse and a host of questions whose answers, Aglarel supposed, would soon rank at the top of his priority list.

Near the end of his musings Aglarel found that Escanor, Rivalen, Lamorak, Clariburnus, Yder, and Rapha had all made their way back into the audience hall; Escanor was wearing an expression of confusion so comical that Aglarel had to fight the urge to roll his eyes skyward. Did the First Prince really think that the Most High had nothing better to do than to cater to him every time he set foot in this domain? Though they all raised questions at his approach, Aglarel had eyes only for Rivalen – who, though unnecessarily pious, operated on a similar wavelength most of the time.

"The Most High has summoned you," Aglarel told him tonelessly. "He awaits your swift return in the hospital ward."

"I will go at once," Rivalen agreed, and Aglarel couldn't help feeling grateful for his older brother's no-nonsense attitude – no quandary, just acceptance and obedience, the only logical way to respond to any command from the High Prince in Aglarel's opinion. Soon after Rivalen's departure the rest of the Shadow Council finished gathering in the semi-lightless audience chamber; knowing that the High Prince's business would likely take several hours, Aglarel contented himself with being as unassuming as possible in one corner of the chamber and observing the actions of those around him.

What struck him as most interesting was the reception that his youngest brother, Brennus, and his new favorite pet, the doppelganger Phendrana, received upon their untimely arrival as the last two in the hall.

Unlike almost everyone else that resided within Thultanthar, Aglarel had somehow avoided formulating a soft spot for the youngest of the High Prince's sons. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate Brennus and his constant diligence in restoring the grandeur of the Netherese Imperium – it was more that Aglarel always felt disappointed and quietly furious at the prospect of such a bright young mind with the potential to become the next great ruler of their all-powerful society had all but thrown away his chance to further the High Prince's noble bloodline in favor of his own lifestyle choices. He supposed it was to be expected of Brennus more than anyone else – after all, with more wisdom than perhaps the rest of Telamont's progeny combined and the favor of the general public ever at his disposal, any willingness he may have exhibited for producing grandchildren for the fabled Lord Shadow would have all but secured his path to the throne.

Perhaps his so-called lifestyle choice was all a ruse, a clever farce the High Prince himself had ordered his youngest son to practice to ensure that the rest of the Princes of Shade never felt that their own ascension wasn't so far out of reach. If that was the case, Aglarel mused, it was indisputably the most elaborate bid for encouraging rivalry anyone had ever concocted.

More interesting still was observing the way the High Prince's newest collector's item, the doppelganger Phendrana, was assimilating into Shadovar society. He still moved with uncertainty in his steps and he still spoke only when spoken to, but despite these characteristics it seemed the Most High's more empathetic sons had already accepted Phendrana into their fold. Aglarel knew little of the doppelganger and cared even less to hear of his origins – all he really knew was that Phendrana had done the High Prince some great service or two, and that now the Most High was interested in rewarding the doppelganger with the precious gift of the shadow for his very own. Still it was painfully obvious in the way that the doppelganger fawned over Brennus that the two had already entered into some kind of perverse personal relationship – or at least if they hadn't yet, they would be soon.

It made Aglarel want to roll his eyes and sigh in exasperation. There was no place in the High Prince's court for such trivial matters, in his opinion. How did Telamont's closest subjects find time for such meaningless pursuits while still devoting the necessary amount of time and care to his affairs? He wasn't sure, but he did know that just considering such behaviors was mentally exhausting.

He continued to watch and listen, saying nothing, preparing his comprehensive report for the High Prince the moment his sovereign asked for it, until inevitably one of those who had been attending on Telamont returned to the audience hall to address the group at large. Aglarel was unsurprised to find that the High Prince had sent Soleil – Rivalen would be needed for obvious medical reasons, and Hadrhune's growing attachments to the now-deceased Archmistress would undoubtedly keep him tethered to her side at all times.

Those nearest to Soleil converged upon her almost at once, all but shouting questions for her to answer; Aglarel edged one step nearer, afraid in the ruckus that he would miss just what she had to say.

"Aveil Arthien lives," Soleil told them, her voice exasperated, her features dull and tired. "Though I know not how."

This statement was met with a veritable uproar. Escanor eyed the young girl with a mixture of confusion and disbelief, as though wondering at the sanity behind her words; Lamorak, Rapha, Melegaunt, and Yder all exclaimed aloud in shock and something akin to rage, and Phendrana and Brennus exchanged a gaze that may have been concern. Aglarel felt his eyes widen at the mountebank's words but otherwise did not allow himself to physically react in any way, though inwardly his mind was reeling. He had been expecting to hear of Aveil's speedy resurrection – doubtless the Most High had intended to grant her life as a gift, for all that she had done for Thultanthar during the phaerimm invasion – but to find that her return to the living world had not been expedited by the High Prince's charity but as a result of some outside force was very unsettling. He expected that this unforeseen turn of events would be the focal point for his meeting with the High Prince, though what part he would be expected to play he couldn't even begin to guess.

"You mean to say that her resurrection was not brought about by the High Prince?!" Rapha roared, and this time Aglarel couldn't help but roll his eyes to the heavens. For all his bluster, the Tenth Prince of Shade seldom thought before he spoke – the result often made him look foolish, and nearly always landed him at odds with someone.

Soleil fixed him with a withering look, a clear sign that she didn't appreciate Rapha questioning her intelligence. "Do you not suppose that if the Most High was responsible I would have mentioned as much? The cause is unknown to us. Even the High Prince is baffled by her sudden recovery."

"But…" Eleventh Prince Melegaunt passed a hand across his eyes, looking tired and harassed. "Surely the Most High has some idea as to how this came about…?"

"Please," Soleil begged them earnestly, for it was clear that she was at the end of her patience and fatigued beyond words. Not that Aglarel could blame her – she was human, so helpless and human, and incapable of the great feats of strength and stamina the High Prince often entrusted her to accomplish. "If you take issue with what the High Prince has charged me with announcing, I urge you to take your concerns up with him. It is above my station to divine what the High Prince may be thinking at any given time."

"Well said, Soleil," Escanor congratulated fondly, and he ruffled her hair with one hand as he smiled down at her nostalgically. "I daresay you have earned the right to rest now – I cannot say what the High Prince will wish to do from this point forward, but I am sure he will inform us all of our duties regarding this matter as soon as he is able." The First Prince straightened, and all those present hearkened to him – even Aglarel, who was bound by the hierarchy of the Princes of Shade to obey him in all things when the Most High was not present. "I think now would be a good time for all of us to disperse – this day has been taxing on us all, and we will not likely find our answers tonight. Ensure that you attend the morning council session tomorrow, for I expect we will be talking of the many reconstructions the city will now need – as well as our plans for paying the phaerimm back in kind for the havoc and devastation they have wrecked upon Thultanthar. If you have duties to see to this night by all means see to them, but afterward I pray you – find some rest. We will undoubtedly need it in the days to come."

His dismissal of them would have been sufficient, but as if on cue the great double doors leading into the audience hall cracked open then to admit Second Prince Rivalen; Aglarel was hoping to glean a little more of the truth from his older brothers' expression, but Rivalen's face was impassive and he gave nothing away. "You are all commanded to disband," he ordered them, "by the express wish of the Most High. For those of you who have lost your homes in the phaerimm attack, the High Prince has generously offered you several of his private rooms as recompense for your sacrifices, and has decreed that you be allowed to reside within the palace until such time as your homes have been reconstructed. He also bids you all to attend tomorrow morning's council meeting, for he has much to share with you all. For now, though, he bids you all goodnight."

Rivalen excused himself without another word, exiting the same way he had come; Aglarel suspected he would return immediately to the High Prince's side, for certainly he was inspecting the newly resurrected Archmistress for signs of foul play. Aglarel had already formed his own private opinions on what he supposed had transpired to restore Aveil to life, but as always he chose to withhold his suppositions until he received the real truth from the High Prince himself.

Fortunately, Escanor seemed to be in his element. "It would be best if we issued a citywide curfew in all districts until we can be certain that the breach in the city's security will not be repeated; I will make the announcement myself, before I return to the Hall of the Arts Martial and organize our forces there into patrols. I think it would be best if the Army of Shade kept an eye on the streets at least for tonight – I am certain it is what the Most High would want. Clariburnus, will you rest, or will you come along?"

Clariburnus looked haggard indeed – of all those among them, he had sustained greater injuries than perhaps anyone else – but he shouldered his glaive readily enough and moved to join his oldest brother uncomplainingly. "I will go along and ensure that the patrols are running smoothly before I retire - it would be unjust of me not to participate in the patrols. The Army of Shade has long looked to me for guidance, and I will continue to honor their pleas for leadership."

"Yder," barked Escanor, turning at once to Shar's Champion of the Faith, "what will you do now? It is likely that Rivalen will be occupied for quite some time, until the High Prince has determined the cause of the Archmistress's sudden recovery."

"I will return to the church and organize the priests on Rivalen's behalf," Yder decided, straightening his shoulders and shrugging the fatigue out of his muscles. "I am certain the High Prince would want us to conduct a prayer to the Night Mother, thanking her for our victory over the phaerimm and for ensuring that the loss of our subjects was not as devastating as it could have been. Your curfew will keep the commoners from visiting the church and partaking of our divinations tonight, but see that they are free to attend all masses tomorrow so that they may attend to the safeguarding of their souls. Doubtless they will want to thank the goddess themselves for her never-ending mercy."

"I will see to it," Clariburnus promised, then he, Escanor, and Yder all shadow walked out of the audience hall.

As Third Prince Lamorak was next in line to organize those who remained, he took up delegating the moment Escanor had departed. "Mattick, Vattick, Dethud, Melegaunt, return at once to the Shadow Mages College and locate all the healing measures you have stored away – even the ones you reserve for educational purposes. This includes potions, alchemical ingredients, scrolls, wands, rods, staves – anything you can spare. The casualties we have suffered this night are extensive, but if you act with haste we may yet be able to save some lives."

"We will begin concocting healing elixirs in mass quantities right away," Mattick assured, and he and his twin vanished in two wisps of shadow vapor. Dethud and Melegaunt were quick to follow suit.

"It would be best for you," Lamorak snarled in Rapha's direction, "to offer your services to Escanor and Clariburnus as they organize the patrols. They will need every strong arm they can gather in the event that the phaerimm return for a second retaliatory strike."

Rapha said nothing, but bowed curtly and departed.

Brennus took a small step forward. "With your permission, I would like to return the books the High Prince allowed me to borrow regarding the history of the Dracon to the Grand Library. Phendrana and I managed to secure them so that the knowledge contained within them did not meet the phaerimm's eyes, and I am certain the Most High would like to see them returned safely to where they belong."

Lamorak nodded once. "I am sure you are right." He turned then to Soleil and Phendrana, who looked both guilty that they had been left out of the proceedings and half-exhausted from the day's many events. "You two I will dismiss for now – it is better that you rest than further exert yourselves. Were you of the shadow I would still have further use for you, but as you are not I think it best you retire. Make yourselves available to the High Prince's whim tomorrow, for I daresay he will have further use for you when you have rested."

Soleil and Phendrana murmured words of gratitude as Brennus beckoned to them and led them out the same doors that Rivalen had exited through, presumably as he saw to the doppelganger's comfort on his way to the library. As they were departing Lamorak at last looked Aglarel's way; the assassin had at last shoved away from the wall and was moving forward with purpose in his steps, prompting Lamorak to ask, "What will you do? Will you retire until the High Prince summons you?"

Aglarel scoffed as though the mere suggestion was ludicrous. "I haven't time to rest. The admission of the phaerimm into the City of Shade is a gross violation of the security statutes that I myself am charged with upholding. Until such time as I can be assured that another breach is next to impossible, I will be strengthening the enclave's protective enchantments."

The door eased shut behind Brennus, Phendrana, and Soleil as Lamorak nodded his approval. "I suppose I will return to the Determinist's Guild and assess the damage there – it would not do to lose the implements we have in place for conducting the Determining, for it would displease the High Prince perhaps more than anything else. Then I will join our brothers at the Shadow Mages College, and aid them as best I may." There was a brief pause before the Third Prince added, "You will summon us if we are needed?"

"The moment the High Prince wishes it," Aglarel muttered by way of agreement, and the moment Lamorak had dissolved into shadow the Fourth Prince of the City of Shade departed the High Prince's audience hall himself to see about the city's protective enchantments.


	2. That Devil, Contemplative

That Devil, Contemplative

Aglarel ran a hand down his face in a rare show of exasperation before straightening up and blowing out a sigh. He had been hard at work in the Shadow Observatory for two hours with no progress, and now he was incredibly displeased with himself indeed – if one appeared before the High Prince with nothing to report, it was an accurate reflection of one's worth, in his opinion.

Near the backside of the Palace Most High, higher even than the observation deck and more secret even than the chamber where the Determining took place at the High Prince's instruction, was a thin black steeple that nearly pierced the top of the thick veil of shadows that protected Thultanthar from the harsh rays of the sun; this place was known as the Shadow Observatory, and it was from here that Aglarel cast and maintained the protective enchantments that enshrouded the whole of the city. Only the Fourth Prince of the City of Shade and a precious few of the Most High's most trusted advisors had ever set foot within the Shadow Observatory – at present, Aglarel had only called upon one other person to aid him as he inspected the security measures for breaches.

The shade Irileth, a member of both the Determinist's Guild as well as Aglarel's tight-knit group of master assassins, was a member of the Lower Court and the only daughter of Third Prince Lamorak. Aglarel had heard it told that she had been conceived accidently on the only occasion Lamorak had ever consented to visiting Tenth Prince Rapha's harem in the Lower District, and that Lamorak's unfortunate concubine had died of childbirth complications shortly after Irileth's birth; how much truth there was to this version of events Aglarel wasn't sure, nor did he care to investigate further. Despite that half of her less than desirable parentage Irileth had grown up with all the grace and poise one would expect of an illegitimate granddaughter of High Prince Telamont; her Determining had revealed that she had great promise, and upon completion of her training to become a Determinist she had started to assist Aglarel at his own request. Her innate stealth and dexterity – traits she must have inherited from her deceased mother, Aglarel supposed – made her a prime candidate for Aglarel's secret order of assassins, and her rather pliant demeanor made her the ideal assistant for Aglarel and all of his unusual responsibilities.

She stood in the center of the observatory, her hands clasped modestly in front of her, her hood pulled low but her unusual moonstone eyes still visible as she watched him stalk about the chamber. "Prince Aglarel, what will we report to the Most High? We have determined nothing from our efforts here and he will surely be summoning you soon."

Aglarel gritted his teeth, clearly displeased. "_We_ will report nothing to the Most High. _I _have determined that there is only one way the phaerimm might have been admitted."

Irileth tilted her head minutely to one side, curious and perhaps even a little dubious; on the whole Aglarel tolerated Irileth quite well and could even say that he enjoyed her company sparsely, but her doubt only stimulated his ire in this instance and he found himself almost desperate to be rid of her. "But how? We have inspected all of the protective enchantments three times over – there is no breach to be found. The security that envelops the city is just as strong as it always is. Do you suppose that one of our own bypassed the security network and admitted the phaerimm beyond our knowledge?"

Truthfully Aglarel had considered that possibility himself, but only briefly, and over an hour ago. "If one of our own had betrayed us, I would know of it – you can be assured of that."

"Then what?" Irileth baited, and Aglarel sighed as he prepared to share his theory with her but paused when he felt the sudden but unmistakable presence of the High Prince slipping into his willing mind's every crevice.

_Let us convene at the world window. There is much that I would share with you, and I would have your full account of all that has occurred in my absence._

Aglarel turned at last to face Irileth, who was shrewd enough to have noticed his hesitation to answer. "Continue about your business here – fortify the defenses around the city. I must go now to meet with the High Prince. I do not expect I will return this night, for I am certain he will divine a better use for me."

Irileth blinked once slowly. "Fortify the defenses, Prince? We have determined that the security is intact. What good will it do to strengthen them?"

"It will allow me to tell the Most High that I was not idle here," Aglarel explained sourly. "Do not question me, Irileth – do as you are told."

She bowed deeply, her hands still clasped respectfully in front of her, her eyes cast downward upon the floor. Momentarily satiated by her obedience and discretion Aglarel stepped through a tear in the fabric of reality and moved effortlessly into the Plane of Shadow, where all was dark and life was far simpler.

Given the option Aglarel would gladly live out his days in the Shadow Plane, and he would do so without complaint. The Material Plane was where the Netherese race had been born and where they were meant to reside, he knew, but he was a creature of shadow and darkness both by birth and by principle and so much preferred that lightless, harsh realm to nearly any other place he had ever visited. Only Escanor, Rivalen, and Lamorak had been born to the Most High prior to Thultanthar's sojourn to the Plane of Shadow; the rest of them had been brought into the world during the most turbulent days their race had ever known, and had never known another world except the shadow until that fateful day when, through centuries of worshipping Shar and scraping together every mote of knowledge available to him, High Prince Telamont had succeeded in supplanting their city and returning it to the plane from whence it had come. Aglarel had been the first of Telamont's long line of successors whose newborn eyes had seen darkness, not sunlight, and living in such close proximity to the near-constant dangers that were a part of everyday life in the Shadow Realm had molded him into the intuitive, compassionless killer he was today. Every time he passed through the Shadow Realm he moved with purpose, every step deliberate and unafraid, for he was Fourth Prince Aglarel of Thultanthar, the only one of Most High Telamont's sons who had been born different yet shown clemency.

He materialized in the audience hall around three-thirty in the morning feeling mildly fatigued but otherwise alert; Irileth had dressed those wounds he had sustained in the onslaught that required medical attention, and he was otherwise unconcerned for his physical state. His sovereign was awaiting his arrival at the rim of the large, sunken basin into which was laid the world window, a magical scrying device that granted the High Prince insight into the life of anyone he wished at any given moment. He padded the length of the chamber quietly, invoking the power of his soundless step with barely a half-formed thought, and paused at Telamont's side wordlessly as he awaited his instructions.

Telamont said nothing at first, merely lifted one arm and pointed with one shadowy digit to indicate that Aglarel should gaze into the pool below them; Aglarel focused on the image displayed upon the too-still surface of the enchanted liquid, keen to at last be getting answers to his many questions. The scene he witnessed was nothing like what he had anticipated seeing: it was a reflection of Archmistress Arthien and the shadow sorcerer Hadrhune, alone in one of the private suites within the Palace Most High, on their feet facing one another and engaged in an intense shouting match.

Aglarel glanced sidelong at the High Prince, whose jaw was set with displeasure and whose eyes were two slits of quiet anger within his shadow-swathed face. "Holy Father, if I may."

"It is the reason you are here," Telamont responded, glaring down at the world window inhospitably.

"Hadrhune has been compromised." It pained Aglarel a little to admit this aloud, for though he had thought as much on numerous occasions of late it did not please him to find Hadrhune was falling from the High Prince's favor. Being of less than pure birth himself Aglarel had often sympathized with many of Hadrhune's causes and endeavors, and had never missed an opportunity to inform the High Prince of Hadrhune's efforts to further his interests in all matters. Nevertheless, if Hadrhune was losing his way and there was a very visible shift in his priorities, Aglarel was bound by his honor as a Prince of Shade and his loyalty to his father to speak his mind about it. "I fear he is no longer fit to serve you in this instance. You charged him with outwitting the Archmistress – in that he has failed you utterly, it seems."

As if on cue the shouting match they watched took a sudden and passionate turn; Aveil slapped Hadrhune in the face with one of her petite hands, her lower lip trembled as some manner of fear at last overtook her, and the seneschal crushed his lips to hers with an urgency so acute it left Aglarel momentarily stunned. High Prince Telamont uttered a low sound of intense displeasure and waved his hand, wordlessly commanding the world window to cease with its display, and abruptly the pool beneath their feet darkened and became abnormally still. He turned then to face Aglarel, who could feel the discontentment radiating from his sovereign's being. "Should I have foreseen this? The past those two share was not unknown to me when I charged Hadrhune with… dealing with her. I was aware of their liaison all those years ago in the Citadel. I forgave him his momentary lack of judgment, for it seemed to be just that – a moment of chaste passion. I assumed he had redoubled his efforts to devote himself fully to my interests – and believe you me, delving to the crux of this business between Aveil and Lim Tal'eyve is now higher on my priority list than perhaps anything else. Did I set myself up for this travesty? Should I not have trusted him with so important a matter?"

This was the truth of the complex relationship between High Prince Telamont and Fourth Prince Aglarel, a truth that none within Thultanthar had ever dared to believe existed – that this father and son were closer to equals than anyone else Telamont had ever entertained privately in his audience chamber. As far back into his comprehension as Aglarel could recall this had been the way of things, for reasons that no one had ever guessed and likely could never fathom. Aglarel's unusual parentage was the reason for his unusual upbringing, he supposed, though the reason behind his close relationship with his father had never made him feel resentful or ungrateful – if he were the monarch of such a prominent and pivotal society such as the last city of the fabled Netherese Imperium, he supposed he would utilize any and all resources at his disposal too. Regardless of the reason Telamont had always entertained Aglarel as more of an advisor than an underling, for which Aglarel was nothing but grateful – after all Telamont was solely responsible for allowing him to live at all, so why should he not serve the High Prince in whatever way he deemed necessary?

Aglarel shook his head solemnly, for he understood the High Prince's predicament. Telamont had elevated Hadrhune to his current station many years ago at great personal risk; in most things this decision had proved fruitful both for Telamont and for Thultanthar, his current state of dishonor aside. "This was disobedience that you could not have foreseen, I think. In all things Hadrhune has always been your faithful and loyal servant; that he would betray your trust and forsake your bounty in this way is both unimaginable and inexcusable."

Telamont's eyebrows drew together into a single severe line, and when he next spoke his tone was low and forbidding. "I should not entrust the Archmistress into his care from this point forward."

"Not in my opinion, Holy Father." Aglarel meant to question the High Prince further, but Telamont seemed to remember then just how this strange turn of events had come about in the first place and took up a line of questioning Aglarel had momentarily forgotten but knew to expect.

"The security of the enclave." The High Prince leaned forward suddenly, bringing his face much nearer to his son's, and for his part Aglarel worked to keep very still and not break the eye contact that had been established. "You have had ample opportunity to inspect it? I want to know exactly where the security breach was, how the defenses were so easily penetrated, and what you have done to prevent a catastrophe of this nature from befalling us again. In the thousands of years I have been High Prince of this city _not once_ have the phaerimm, our most hated enemies, _ever_ set foot within these walls… If they have done so now as a result of your lack of vigilance, I will be most displeased."

Though the High Prince's threat was not very subtle, Aglarel did not allow himself to feel concern. It was a mistake that many of Telamont's other advisors made often – they assumed that their sovereign's ire was directed solely at them when a mistake was made, and became defensive as a result. Aglarel knew better; more often than not Telamont was incensed on behalf of his subjects, and used the over protectiveness he felt toward those who looked to him to secure their safety to fuel his words. Even in this instance Aglarel knew he was not at fault, for the upkeep of the city's many protective enchantments was a ritual he saw to daily and took more seriously than perhaps any of his other regular duties.

"The defenses were enacted just as they always are," Aglarel explained evenly. "I took time to expect them thoroughly and many times over, and at the end of my labors I am confident in saying that the breach of the city was not the fault of the enchantments I cast. Everything was in place as normal and none of the enchantments had even been damaged in the attack. My only theory is that the phaerimm found a way to bypass our security. There is no other explanation logical enough to explain their sudden presence in the enclave."

Telamont's eyes were narrowed into slits; it was clear from his resigned expression that he understood Aglarel's reasoning, but he did not find it at all comforting and seemed less than satisfied. "There is little point in erecting enchantments so diligently," the High Prince muttered forbiddingly, "if our greatest adversaries are able to avoid them altogether. Explain."

Aglarel hesitated for a moment, but it did not last long; he had never been one to defy the High Prince, however great his personal discomfort. "I believe that some measure of divine intervention was present to allow the phaerimm to slip within our walls. Such enchantments have proven strong enough to deter the phaerimm for countless centuries – they have not suddenly come across the means to unmake them and leave no trace."

"I have heard both Hadrhune's and Soleil's accounts of what happened in the Circle," Telamont confided. "Their stories both include the sudden, unexplainable presence of Lim Tal'eyve. It should also be noted that only moments after the lichdrow was reportedly killed at the Archmistress's hand, the remaining phaerimm fled the city."

"Likely the two events are linked," Aglarel hypothesized, "and that Lim Tal'eyve was somehow responsible for bringing the phaerimm to our doorstep."

"Do you suggest that Lim Tal'eyve was given the means to command an army of phaerimm and transport said army past our defenses by some godlike entity, or that he possesses these abilities and his goddess has no knowledge of it?"

Aglarel spread his hands, at a loss. "I suggest nothing, Holy Father. I only lay my conjectures at your feet for your consideration. I am interested only in the facts, and in carrying out your next aim – and the fact is that the enchantments have held all this time, so there are obviously forces at work here that are beyond my control."

"Indeed," Telamont at last agreed, and the Fourth Prince inwardly breathed a sigh of great relief. "I will not badger you further on the subject now, and I will see to it myself when I have time to do so."

Aglarel's curiosity got the better of him then and he spoke up in all confidence that his questions would be sufficiently answered. "Were you really not responsible for the Archmistress's sudden return to life?"

Telamont's eyes flashed but this was not disconcerting to Aglarel, who had always entertained the High Prince's utmost favor and no longer concerned himself with the near impossibility that he would one day overstep his bounds. "I was not, and for the life of me I cannot determine how it came about."

Aglarel only hesitated for an instant. "If you are willing in your generosity to share the details of her resurrection, I should like very much to hear them."

"Good – perhaps in the retelling I will be able to make better sense of these events myself." Telamont turned his back on the world window and made for his throne at a leisurely pace, and Aglarel fell into step companionably at his side – another anomaly of their relationship, for no other in all of Thultanthar was ever permitted to walk in step with the High Prince of the City of Shade. "It seems Lim Tal'eyve was responsible for Aveil's demise, though I cannot say that this news came as any surprise to me – by all accounts the lichdrow has harbored some perverse fascination with her for quite some time, hence why I granted her clemency by allowing her to remain here under my protection. Soleil recounted that they stabbed one another and that both had passed beyond the veil just seconds after sustaining their mortal wounds – my inspection of the Archmistress's body confirmed Soleil's words to be true. When Rivalen at last joined us he was able to speculate that Aveil had spent between twenty six and twenty eight minutes on the Spirit Plane; he had just confirmed her to be truly dead when her eyes opened and she awoke before us."

They had reached the well-polished black marble staircase that led up to the dias upon which Telamont's grand onyx throne sat; the High Prince ascended the short staircase and seated himself, motioning for Aglarel to join him. The Fourth Prince took a seat upon the topmost stair and relaxed, his elbows braced upon his knees, his eyes fixed upon the floor as he considered. At length he said, "Peculiar."

"Not as peculiar as this – when she awoke, the entire composition of her body changed. She is faintly see-through, like the apparitions who inhabit the streets of Manifest. This change did not take effect until she returned to the living world, which can mean only one thing – while she was beyond the veil, she did something to alter her own physical state."

Aglarel scoffed, now more unimpressed by the Archmistress than perhaps he had ever been before. "So she became a wraith in the short period of time that she was away. An unimaginative choice. What remains of her body will expire soon and she will have accomplished nothing."

"Ah." Telamont lifted a finger as if to indicate they had come to the crux of the matter. "But does a wraith breathe? Does it have a beating heart? Is it considered a living creature?"

The Fourth Prince frowned, now thoroughly vexed. "No on all counts. I assume the Archmistress exhibits all of these traits? If that is true, what is she? And how did she come to be in such a state?"

Telamont balanced his chin in his hand, brooding. "From here we can only speculate. We have no explanation for what has happened."

Aglarel glanced back at his father as sudden comprehension dawned upon him. "You know that you can no longer trust Hadrhune to carry out your wishes where she is concerned – though make no mistake, he will continue to attempt to do so in his own misguided way in his desperate attempt to keep even a fraction of your approval. If your desire now is to find out just what the Archmistress is hiding, you would be best served entrusting such a task to someone with the ability to handle Aveil the way she should have been handled from the beginning – from an appropriate distance, and with force if necessary."

The High Prince was nodding along, and it was clear in his expression that he was pleased with his son's assessment. "That is a mistake that I will not make again from this point forward – I will not allow Aveil to be shown even an ounce of leniency. If she is not cooperative in these proceedings, her life will be forfeit. I do not suffer traitors and conspirators to survive for long in my city." He settled back in his throne, the picture of a statuesque, impervious monarch, and added, "The task will be yours, as it should have been from the very start. It was foolish of me to assume that Hadrhune would be capable of keeping the Archmistress at bay when I knew that he had already once succumbed to her charms. You, on the other hand, are all but immune to the beguiling natures of women. Say that you will take up this task for me, for there is no one now I can trust to accomplish it."

To say that Aglarel was all but immune to the beguiling natures of women was a bit of a stretch in his opinion, but Aglarel didn't bother correcting his father on that point. It wasn't that Aglarel found Aveil Arthien repulsive in any sense of the word – quite the contrary he had entertained the notion of bedding her once or twice since her arrival into their midst, but had dismissed the possibility entirely on account of the fact that he knew the High Prince would need someone with a clear and level head to deal with the fallout of her ill-advised decisions eventually. Now she had taken Hadrhune down with her, and Aglarel couldn't see her as anything but a true threat to the City of Shade – she was diabolical in her schemes and was as selfish as a harpy, and most dangerously of all she cared nothing for the consequences of her decisions or how her choices adversely affected those closest to her. Aglarel suspected now that Hadrhune would sacrifice everything in her name, and would fall farthest from the High Prince's favor at the end of it all.

"Of course I will do this for you," he accepted graciously, happy to find that he could be of service to his sovereign in any way. "I will not rest until I have uncovered the answers you require, and I will be as discreet in my conduct as you have come to expect of me. How would you prefer that I handle the Archmistress in my dealings?" He paused briefly to snicker beneath his breath, a rare act indeed, before finishing, "I am certain that she would not hold up well under torture."

They shared a laugh at that, for the prospect of subjecting the impertinent wizard to a wide array of unspeakable tortures was in a way appealing to them both, but though Telamont seemed pleased with the offer he leaned forward and pitched his voice conspiratorially low as he said, "No… Leave the wizard's body intact, for I may yet have some use for her when this business has been sorted out. I think I would instead prefer if you gave her a taste of her own medicine."

Aglarel couldn't help cocking his head to one side, unsure of just what the High Prince meant by that and clueless as to how he should respond. "…Holy Father?"

"Come now, Aglarel, don't play the fool – you are far cleverer than that, and the façade doesn't suit you." The High Prince was still chuckling softly at some imagined outcome, and Aglarel couldn't help but feel intrigued by whatever it was that had his sovereign so obviously amused. "Who did I favor before the Archmistress landed herself in my custody? Hadrhune. Who swore that he could conduct himself with his customary dispassion when subjected to her wiles? Hadrhune. And whose every word has been reduced to nothing now by his thoughtless and lustful actions? Why, it is Hadrhune, is it not? And so it is my idea that you should conduct yourself now with both deception and vengeance – it is my wish that you subject Aveil to the very same fate that she has condemned Hadrhune to, and that you show Hadrhune no quarter for his betrayal of me. Punish Aveil with the very same intrigue that she seems always to have at her disposal, and reduce Hadrhune to nothing more than a raving lunatic who has been humiliated by his own jealousy."

The implications of this command raced through Aglarel's mind, the dozen ideas it spawned each as diverse as the next and as inconsistent as vapor; the Fourth Prince glanced back over his shoulder to regard the High Prince with something like incredulity in his eyes, a rare emotion indeed to see from him. Of all of the High Prince's progeny Aglarel was the most masterful of his emotions, the quickest to alter his humor to a state of mind that better suited the task at hand, and he seemed almost scandalized by what he had been told to do. Not that Telamont was worried – Aglarel was also the most loyal, and the least likely to fail. He had conformed to Telamont's will at a very young age and had never once deviated from that path – it was the reason the High Prince held him in such high esteem.

Aglarel did not hesitate for long before he had formulated his response, and when the words escaped his lips he couldn't help smirking around them as though he found the task he had been charged with suddenly highly amusing. "I will see to it that the Archmistress falls victim to the same tricks that she often employs, and that Hadrhune will hate her and himself by the time my business is at its end. And fear not – I will discover what it is that fuels Aveil's life, and if I find that she has deceived you I will end her."

High Prince Telamont settled back into his throne, the brilliant platinum of his eyes shining with the full weight of his pleasure and something that may have been keen interest – interest in seeing the final fruits of Aglarel's labors, the Fourth Prince supposed.

"I leave it to you," Telamont mused softly, and he made no threats or promises as to what would happen if Aglarel did not succeed – they both knew such words were not necessary.

* * *

Aglarel didn't bother dropping by the Shadow Observatory when the High Prince dismissed him, for it was nearly five o' clock in the morning by then and he knew it was safe to assume that Irileth had completed her business there and retired to the Assassin's Guild for some much-needed sleep. He hadn't had the opportunity to order the Assassin's Guild into action when the phaerimm had infiltrated the enclave, for they had appeared too quickly to allow for any organization and had been far too numerous; Irileth had long functioned as his second in command to that secretive order, though, and he knew just by speaking with her in the observatory that she had amassed them herself in defense of the city. He seriously considered returning to his own private villa, which had sustained only exterior cosmetic damage and was still livable without repairs, and beginning work on his new task in the morning after a few hours' rest, but instead of shadow walking back to his private residence in the Circle he turned right and headed down the hallway that led to the living suites in the Palace Most High, invoking the power of his noiseless step as he went.

He ascended the first curving staircase to the second floor and moved with the care and patience of a seasoned thief, considering with each step just how best to proceed. Given the time he thought it was safe to assume that Aveil was asleep by now, and if she was he wanted the opportunity to study her. The testimony of the Most High was never wrong, for Telamont was a long-lived creature and a wise monarch and left absolutely nothing to chance, but Aglarel wondered if he would draw any separate conclusions by seeing the newly resurrected Archmistress with his own eyes. Surely it couldn't hurt simply to observe.

The living suites occupied the entire north wing of the second floor of the palace; Aglarel spent more time in the great castle than any of his brothers, and knew the lightless corridors just as well as he knew the halls of his own home. At each door he paused, not to listen but to allow his intuition to infiltrate the crack beneath the door and locate his prey without the use of his five primary senses, and at the second to last door on the right he felt certain he had located Aveil's resting place.

Briefly he considered simply letting himself in through the door but dismissed that idea at once; there was too much risk in such a direct approach, even as certain as he was that his quiet movements wouldn't disturb the Archmistress in her slumber. Instead he dissolved into his own shadow and moved briefly through the clinging tendrils of darkness that characterized the Shadow Realm before rematerializing in the corner of the room furthest from the door, and it was apparent right away that he had made a wise choice – Aveil Arthien was indeed awake despite the lateness of the hour, standing facing the window and gazing out at the sprawling city below.

Aglarel instinctively shrank back against the wall but wasn't much concerned with being seen; it was mostly dark in the suite save for the strongest rays of moonlight that had managed to filter through the thick clouds of shadow that perpetually enshrouded the city of Thultanthar, which was not enough light for Aveil's surface dweller's eyes to see much by. He remained perfectly motionless where he was, scarcely daring to breathe for the first few seconds for fear of alerting her to his presence, but gradually he relaxed and eased out of his predator's crouch when it became clear that Aveil was completely engrossed in her own private musings. Casting his gaze to the right Aglarel took note of the fact that Hadrhune had never left the Archmistress's company; the seneschal lay sprawled upon the bed nearest to the door atop wrinkled bed sheets, his face stern even in sleep and his bare chest rising and falling evenly. The shadow sorcerer's state of undress, coupled with the fact that Aveil wore only a loose black sheet wound around her slender spellcaster's body with her unkempt hair cascading wildly down her back, was proof enough that Hadrhune had defied the High Prince's orders and at last bedded the Archmistress.

It was news Aglarel was certain High Prince Telamont would be most interested to hear.

Aveil moved suddenly and Aglarel's eyes snapped back upon her, suddenly concerned that she would turn from the window and his presence would become known; she didn't move from the window, simply tightened the sheet around her body and hugged her bare arms as though she was cold. Aglarel braced his palms against the wall and pushed himself upright with the pads of his fingers, taking a measured step toward her; he knew that he had come here against his better judgment and ran the risk of being discovered with every moment that passed, but the allure was just too strong. He wanted to be the one who instilled the first real flicker of doubt within her mind; he wanted to take just a fraction of her haughty self-assurance away from her, and replace it with just the faintest hint of fear. His every step completely devoid of sound, his movements machinelike as his killer's instincts took over, Aglarel moved slowly forward with a manic gleam in his cold silver eyes. And with every inch he crept forward the thrill of stalking an unsuspecting prey thrummed in his veins, burning away the dregs of his fatigue with pure, unadulterated adrenaline, until his carefully measured steps had brought him right up behind the unsuspecting wizard.

With just a few inches to separate them Aglarel allowed his eyes to study every minute feature about her that he thought he may have missed before. Without her customary violet spellcaster's robes drawing attention to her devastating curves and in the absence of her favored weapon, the devastating Staff of Winter's Chill, Aveil Arthien seemed a frail, almost defenseless creature there before him; her shoulders were narrow, the curve of her neck feminine, her pale alabaster skin unblemished but somehow as fragile as a snow flower. Her hands were petite, her face heart-shaped, her cheekbones high and her nose small and delicate looking; her legs were slender but strong, and her feminine curves could have charmed even the hardest of men's hearts. He did notice that her skin was faintly translucent, just as the High Prince had said – a casual onlooker might have missed the consistency of her body with a wayward glance but there was no mistaking that she was something less than human now, though he was no nearer to discovering what had caused the change than before.

Even in spite of this she really was an exquisite specimen – he looked forward to deceiving her for no better reason than to make her see that her superficial tricks were incapable of getting her everything she wanted from life.

Aglarel lifted his right hand and brushed his fingertips ever-so-gently along the ridge of her ear before vanishing in a wisp of black shadow vapor, and though she gasped aloud and turned immediately to see who had snuck up on her she wasn't quick enough to catch the Fourth Prince of Shade as he spirited himself out of the room. And though his features had been too obscured by shadow for Aveil to make out who had surprised her, Aglarel had had the supreme pleasure of glimpsing the rawest emotions concealed within her normally composed expression – shock, anger, but most of all, terror.

When he materialized from the thick shadows within the total safety of his own private quarters, Aglarel threw his head back and laughed long and loud as he reveled in the final spike of his adrenaline. He wasn't sure how he could possibly know such a thing in the very earliest stages of his task, but Aglarel was suddenly certain that tending to this most urgent of the High Prince's affairs would prove to be very amusing indeed.


	3. That Devil, Conniving

That Devil, Conniving

_In his exhaustion he slept, and in his sleep, he dreamed._

_He dreamed of a place that was familiar only in that he had seen it countless times in his slumber, but it was no place he had ever visited before. There were high, piercing black mountains in the distance that seeped rivulets of angry red fire down their treacherous slopes; broken slabs of jagged stone littered the base of these rock formations, promising the swift death of anyone foolish enough to slip from such a dangerous precipice. It was a barren wasteland scorched with war and desolation – above him red clouds roiled furiously as the killing acid rain prepared to streak down, below him, there was nothing but the uneven, razed earth._

_He was standing in the middle of that flat expanse of ruined badland facing what could only be an angel. She was smaller than him but not fragile – no, here was perhaps the most statuesque woman he had ever laid eyes upon, with a very obvious strength sleeping in her supple limbs – and her skin was smooth as an undisturbed pool in the dead of night and as flawless as an expertly cut moonstone. She had a shock of dark red hair that she wore in a layered bob, and her eyes were a piercing crimson that almost rivaled the pools of scorching magma for intensity; as he watched her with open fascination she stretched her pair of feathery burgundy wings almost restlessly, almost as though she had consented to appearing before him against her better judgment. Despite the sweltering heat that pressed in all around them, beading upon his brow a fine sheen of sweat and diluting the protective cloak of shadows that was ever-present around his body, the winged creature before him appeared to be perfectly comfortable in her surroundings. He noted with a twinge of curiosity that the enchanted bow she carried remained slung over one of her bare shoulders as she regarded him, and so he chose not to reach for one of the many weapons expertly concealed upon his person._

_At length she condescended to speak, and though her words were in the harsh tongue of the Abyssal language he understood her perfectly. "She is dangerous. You underestimate her. You all do."_

_The corner of his mouth twitched upward involuntarily as he smirked back at her, suddenly at ease and feeling infinitely more superior; it gave him great pleasure to respond perfectly in her own chosen dialect. "Is she?"_

"_She is far more than she appears."_

_He spread his hands as if to indicate himself, his shoulders now bobbing with silent laughter. "Aren't we all?"_

_Her eyes flashed, and for a moment he swore those twin crimson orbs were ablaze with real flame. "Do not mock me, half breed. You have come seeking my wisdom, and I have graciously decided to give it to you."_

"_Then let your ageless wisdom become known to me, harlot," he teased, and though her shoulders trembled with very visible rage she did not strike out at him, for she knew that he had risen beyond her many hundreds of years ago and would not hesitate to destroy her even now._

"_You think that she is your plaything, a mortal creature that exists only for the amusement of your perverse society," she began with a hiss, her pointed teeth flashing between the rapid movements of her luscious red lips. "But I warn you now – never underestimate those who have the power to topple the natural order of things, and especially do not suffer those who can get their way using only the lure of flesh and a few honeyed words. Your father did as much once, long ago, and it nearly cost him his great empire."_

_Inwardly he heeded her words, but he couldn't help but scoff near the end. "My father did as much once, long ago," he repeated bemusedly, "and was rewarded for his persistence. Or do you value my life so little?"_

"_That is not the point. The girl has this power – she has already used it to seduce your father's most trusted emissary. It is only a matter of time before her attentions shift to her next target, and when she learns that you are now closer to his heart than any other she will come for you."_

"_Then let her come!" he crowed victoriously, honestly pleased by her assessment. "I will gladly invite her in. I am not my father's foolish emissary – I am the extension of his will, the instrument that gives his words action. She is not a threat to me."_

_She crossed her arms and jutted out one shapely hip, an uncharacteristic pout upon her lips as she regarded him scornfully; it was clear in her expression that she grew tired of his constant disrespectful commentary, and that she was about to depart. "And what makes you so certain that you have the means to withstand her?"_

_He smirked again, and even offered her an ill-advised wink of one eye. "I am my mother's son, after all."_

* * *

Fourth Prince Aglarel awoke after two hours' worth of solid sleep in a good humor indeed, and was quick to rise and bathe before the housekeeping staff that served him in Villa Hara laid out the morning meal. He ate quickly and didn't tarry in his private residence, for it was only half an hour before the morning session of the Shadow Council was to meet and he wanted to see the devastation the phaerimm had wrecked on the Circle with his own eyes before then.

It was apparent even at first glance that the southern portion of the Circle, the pavilion in the Upper District just below the grounds of the Palace Most High where the members of the esteemed Shadow Council made their homes, had suffered the most damage; Aglarel thought back several hours as he recalled his brothers' testimonies of the events they had been a part of, and remembered that Brennus and Phendrana had been conversing on the balcony of Villa Tareia when the initial phaerimm assault had taken place. He turned southwest and inspected the damage of his youngest brother's private residence to see if it was in keeping with his words, unsurprised when he found that Villa Tareia had been reduced mostly to rubble. That much, it seemed, was true – if invading phaerimm had recognized a Prince of Shade, out in the open and seemingly unprotected with nowhere to run, they would have ransacked everything in their path in their manic craze to reach him.

Aglarel turned back to face his own villa, circling around the gated compound to inspect the only real damage that had been wrought upon his home – a hole in the westernmost wall that led directly into a seldom-used guest room on the ground floor. He had been aware of it the night before but had been too fatigued after his many labors to pay it much attention, and truthfully he was little concerned by it for it was a rare occasion indeed when he entertained guests and the damage would be quickly repaired. Now he picked through the well-kept courtyard and ducked beneath the highest point of the crumbling wall that was still intact to admit himself with a little more interest, for now that he had had a little rest and expelled the last of his exhaustion from his mind he remembered an important part of the puzzle – that he had permitted Aveil to reside in this room just two days ago.

He hadn't invited her, obviously – he had been intrigued by her presence within the city and more than a little amused by her petty mortal's predicaments, to be sure – but rather she had invited herself. As he understood it Aveil had come to a temporary impasse in her efforts to secure Hadrhune's allegiance to her, and had abandoned the seneschal's company in the dead of night in favor of Aglarel's – though what she had hoped to accomplish in seeking him out, even Aglarel couldn't say. He had agreed to house her until the drama had played itself out, and supposed she had been present here when the phaerimm attack had begun.

The phaerimm had materialized in the Circle at the start of their invasion; he knew as much because he had been present in the High Prince's company discussing a wide range of important matters when the first of their wretched kind had been spotted there, and they had watched the initial assault unfold within the world window. They had been much too focused on watching the phaerimm swarm over Villa Tareia in their desperate attempt to claim the Twelfth Prince of Shade as their captive – or their meal, Aglarel supposed offhandedly – to witness just what had happened at Villa Hara, but Aglarel was shrewd enough to guess the answer without any real proof. They knew from their extensive study of the phaerimm over the countless centuries they had been at odds with the cursed aberrations that theirs was a race highly attuned to magic of all kinds – save the unique energies that comprised the Shadow Weave, which was utterly foreign to them – and that this ability enabled them to detect high levels of magic simply by being in close proximity to it. Had Aglarel been present in his home at the time of the onslaught he would have been safe enough from their detecting enchantments simply because the magical aura he radiated was that of the Shadow Weave, but Aveil, who was neither of the Plane of Shadow nor particularly adept in that Art, would be a prime target for such dweomers, for the magic she had at her disposal was drawn primarily from the school of evocation – something that the phaerimm were intimately familiar with.

Aglarel traced the jagged outline of the destroyed wall with one hand, seeking the conclusion to his musings. Aveil couldn't have known that the phaerimm were planning to infiltrate Thultanthar, so it was safe to assume that they had come upon her mostly at unawares, but he also knew that Hadrhune and Aveil had defended the Circle together against the horde of aberrations almost from the start of the onslaught. This could only mean one thing – that Hadrhune had been present in Villa Hara the moment the phaerimm had detected Aveil's magical aura, and that he had escorted her out of the villa and into the pavilion at the first sign that they were overrun. And since Aglarel's housekeeping staff had known that he was out, they likely wouldn't have admitted a guest into his home in his absence – which also meant that Hadrhune had admitted himself without permission.

"You reach too high," Aglarel murmured, taking one last glance around the ruined guest room to ensure that he hadn't overlooked any important details. "As always."

He stepped over the rubble and back into the courtyard, cutting his gaze south toward the center of the pavilion where he knew the battle with Lim Tal'eyve had taken place. The great fountain that served as the pavilion's centerpiece had been utterly destroyed; the basin into which the cool, clear water cascaded had sustained deep cracks and in many places the black and gray marble out of which it was constructed had been chipped away, and water was seeping across the cobblestoned pathway that wound through the pavilion. The onyx statuettes that had been erected in the center of the fountain had been similarly reduced to great chunks of polished onyx rubble – save for his own likeness, amusingly enough, which had been dislodged from its place and overturned but otherwise seemed barely scratched.

"Fortune favors the faithful," he laughed beneath his breath, even as he crushed the nose of the statue that was the likeness of Hadrhune into a fine black powder beneath the heel of his boot.

"Has he caused you some offense?" asked an amused voice from behind him, and glancing over his shoulder Aglarel took note of Seventh Prince Dethud approaching on foot; he seemed to be coming from the Lower District, a sure sign that he had been checking up on the Shadow Mages College where he performed his dark necromantic arts.

Truth be told, Dethud was Aglarel's favorite brother – for all their talk of equality, not all of the Princes of Shade coexisted as peaceably as their father and sovereign would like. Of all of Telamont's progeny Dethud was the least prone to partake in any frivolous activities and preferred, like Aglarel, to conduct himself according to the High Prince's mandate; he was soft spoken and un-opinionated in most matters, preferring usually to maintain a neutral standpoint and offer himself up as mediator in the event that such a thing was ever needed – and in the case of their ever-warring hierarchal society, Dethud was called upon to serve as such nearly every day. He carried himself with great dignity and was always discreet about the Most High's affairs, which were both attributes Aglarel himself valued and could relate quite closely to; occasionally he was a little too secretive about his private activities, which sometimes put him at odds with the High Prince's interests, but aside from that he really was a credit to their sovereign in every way.

Aglarel smirked down at the statue's ruined face before turning away from the ruined fountain, and he and Dethud swept up the cobblestoned lane toward the Palace Most High. "He has caused me no personal offense, but what upsets the Most High upsets me."

"You are referring to Hadrhune's increasingly personal relationship with Archmistress Arthien?" Dethud guessed, and Aglarel scoffed.

"It is not increasingly personal; Hadrhune has violated the last of the High Prince's direct orders where the Archmistress is concerned – something I intend to inform the High Prince of at once."

Dethud glanced Aglarel's way, his pewter eyes scandalized. "You don't mean to say that - ?"

"Whatever you are now supposing is undoubtedly true," Telamont's assassin son confessed in a steely tone of voice, even as the gate guards stationed outside the courtyard of the palace bowed them inside and they began scaling the sweeping staircase that led to the great entrance hall. "Mark me, brother – it will take an act of divine intervention to restore Hadrhune back to the position of favor he entertained before the Archmistress landed herself in our midst. You know as well as I do that the High Prince is unforgiving and rarely sees fit to offer second chances."

The Seventh Prince shuddered delicately at the prospect of enduring the High Prince's ire, but not out of an attachment he may have felt for Hadrhune. Such was the way of the Princes of Shade – loyal to a man but quick to distance themselves from any potential transgressor, for the favor of Telamont Tanthul was everything. "I do know." He hesitated as they swept through the entrance hall and headed east, where at the end of the hall the meeting chamber for the Shadow Council sat adjacent to the High Prince's audience hall, and as they paused outside the door he added in an undertone, "Do you suppose the Most High will cast Hadrhune out for his failures?"

Aglarel simply shrugged. "That is yet to be seen… Perhaps by attending this session we will come to know the truth of the Most High's intentions for ourselves." Then he pushed the door open with the palm of his right hand, and they let themselves in.

Being the most punctual of the High Prince's sons, Aglarel and Dethud were often first to turn up at council sessions and so found the meeting hall empty when they arrived. The meeting hall was a wide room but sparsely furnished – just a single long, rectangular-shaped table with a polished ebony surface, one high-backed chair at the far end, and seven smaller chairs at each long end of the table – one each for the Twelve Princes of Shade and two more for the High Prince's most trusted outside advisors. Though they were the first to appear they took their seats almost at once, both eager for the session to begin and for the High Prince to shed a little light on these most recent matters, and before long the rest of their fellow council members began to appear.

Eighth Prince Mattick, Ninth Prince Vattick, and Eleventh Prince Melegaunt were next to arrive, and they all shadow walked right into the meeting hall together. They talked briefly of the state of the Shadow Mages College, and though repairs were already well underway and would take very little time they were all aggrieved to announce that almost one hundred arcanists, some of the senior level, had been lost in the battle against the phaerimm. Third Prince Lamorak came next, in a particularly foul humor; the Determinists' Guild had suffered the heaviest casualties in the onslaught, and he had spent most of his evening putting together a proposal for the High Prince's consideration that he believed would best suit the now-ailing Determinists. First Prince Escanor, Fifth Prince Clariburnus, and Soleil entered shortly after him, the former two of which were exhausted from their organization of and participation in the patrols throughout the city while the curfew was still being enforced, and Twelfth Prince Brennus came alone only moments later, looking harried for reasons Aglarel could only guess but rested enough. Tenth Prince Rapha came in looking surly as usual and took his seat without addressing any of them, for which Aglarel was nothing but grateful, and Second Prince Rivalen and Sixth Prince Yder were the last to join them, for they had been overseeing public masses at the Church of Shar and had found little real rest.

Aglarel was just wondering whether or not Hadrhune would be joining them, and had begun to entertain the idea that the High Prince had already banned him from attending any future council sessions, when both High Prince Telamont and Hadrhune appeared in a wisp of black shadow vapor and admitted themselves into the meeting hall together. From his chair on the left side of the table just two seats away from the place of honor where Telamont sat Aglarel observed their rather contrasting facial expressions before they managed to master their true emotions; Hadrhune looked simply incensed, though whether he was angry with his sovereign or with himself Aglarel could only speculate, and Telamont looked introspective, as though something had happened to which he now was giving great consideration. The High Prince generously waited until Hadrhune had taken his seat at the far right corner of the table, and then he swept his keen platinum gaze around to study them all before he began to speak.

"I convene this morning session of the Shadow Council. I know that you are all eager to hear testimony of the events surrounding Archmistress Arthien's mysterious death and subsequent resurrection, and so I shan't keep you in the dark any longer." Telamont placed his long-fingered hands upon the high back of his chair, his bright eyes piercing through the perpetual gloom that wreathed his face, quiet for a moment as he gathered his thoughts. "The Archmistress's return to life was not of my doing, and thus far I am still working to determine just how she has found her way back to us. I have spoken privately with her on one occasion, but it resolved very little – she has informed me that she knows nothing of how her resurrection came about, and that those who may have perpetrated it are unknown to her."

Abruptly, the meeting hall erupted into bedlam.

"Most High, with the greatest possible respect, this is obviously a lie!" roared Clariburnus, his silver eyes alight with outrage. "One does not simply pass between the realm of the living and the realm of the dead with no knowledge of how one has done so!"

"Clariburnus is right," Melegaunt agreed, a little calmer of tone but no less enraged. "The journey through the veil is often permanent, and those who find their way returning through Manifest a second time have normally had a hand in orchestrating the journey."

Dethud spoke up then, the voice of reason among them as he so often was. "Are any of you so seasoned that you can make such assumptions in any confidence?"

Aglarel hid a smile under the pretense of balancing his chin upon one upturned hand, for with one simple question Dethud had half of the council glaring at him as though he had committed some crime. The Fourth Prince glanced sidelong at his father for confirmation, to find the High Prince himself smiling bemusedly down at his necromancer son as though somehow pleased by what he had said. "Dethud is more attuned to the ways of the deceased than any of us here," Telamont reminded them a little sternly, and Clariburnus and Melegaunt settled back into their chairs looking sobered. "Perhaps we would all do well to listen to his theories on the matter."

The Seventh Prince came forward in his chair a little and cleared his throat diplomatically; Aglarel hid a second smile. "The process of resurrecting anyone is no simple feat," he began slowly, "and requires a great deal of energy to accomplish. Those who are capable of performing such a task are often clerics of very high rank, and even then the spells required to reanimate a body are not enough to claim success – in addition to breathing life back into a corpse, the cleric must be able to communicate with the spirit of the departed and convince it to return to the body. Often even the most faithful will fail at this stage, for most souls have come to the end of their life's journey and thus have no real reason to return to the world they have left behind; only those who have formed an attachment of unnatural strength to someone or something that yet remains on the Material Plane have sufficient cause to leave Manifest and return to their bodies."

"Get to the point," growled Rapha impatiently, and several of his brothers glared back at him in response.

Dethud did well not to roll his eyes or otherwise show any physical sign of his irritation. "For Archmistress Arthien to return to her body, she must have been in touch with a cleric of no little strength who was both willing to perform the necessary rites on her behalf and knew that she had been killed shortly after the deed had been done."

The shock they felt was universal as they gazed back at the Seventh Prince, completely at a loss for words – all except for Rivalen, who actually had something to add to his explanation. "Do not forget," the High Priest of Shar reminded, "that not just _any_ cleric can resurrect just _any _creature. Often the cleric is bound by the will of the higher power they represent – for example, the spells required for a successful resurrection are well within my grasp, and I have exercised them many times for many good reasons, but the stronger my tie to the goddess Shar becomes the less likely the Night Mother is willing to allow me to recall the spirit of one who is not of a similar faith."

"You mean to say that Shar only allows for the resurrection of fellow worshippers of Shar, and so on and so forth," Brennus summarized, and Rivalen nodded sagely.

"There are, of course, exceptions," the Second Prince added, "but they are very rare."

"No one among us could have accomplished such a thing," said Dethud, his brow creased in sudden realization. "Aveil worships the goddess Mystra, who has long been Shar's mortal enemy. Shar would not only have forbidden any of us to attempt it, but our lives would likely have been forfeit just for suggesting such a thing."

"Who then?" Lamorak broke in. "And more importantly, why? Anyone who would risk so much in taking such a gamble would not do so on a whim – they would have a very good reason."

Telamont cleared his throat then as if to recapture their attentions, and the idle chatter and speculation died away instantly. "Your hypothesizing is of great comfort to me, for it shows me that you are taking this great matter very closely to heart – for that I thank you. In answer to your questions… It is likely that only the one who performed the act knows just why he did it, and so we may never know by what design we find the Archmistress returned to us."

"Most High, with all due respect… Do you really believe that Aveil herself had nothing to do with this, or that her claims of ignorance have any truth to them?" asked Escanor, and it was clear by his tone and his expression where he stood on the matter. Not that Aglarel could blame him – he had learned simply through careful observation that the Archmistress wasn't to be trusted.

"I have made no secret of the fact that I have long been suspicious of the Archmistress's intentions, and of late I find myself increasingly at odds with her actions." Aglarel cut his gaze to the end of the table where Hadrhune sat, in time to witness the darkening of the seneschal's expression, the tightening of his jaw as if he was affronted, and the stiffening of his shoulders as he silently rebuked himself for taking offense. "Nevertheless, I am a man of my word – the return of Lim Tal'eyve seems to be a far greater threat than we originally guessed, and since we have confirmed his participation in the phaerimm assault yesterday I find myself granting more credence to the rumors that he is a force to be reckoned with. When I found that Aveil was at odds with the lichdrow and when Rivalen confirmed that our exalted goddess meant to oppose his rise, I agreed to grant the Archmistress my protection as a means of thwarting him. Until the threat has been thwarted or otherwise dealt with, I will uphold my promise."

These words made it clear that the topic of Aveil Arthien was no longer open for discussion, and no one was foolish enough to contest the will of the High Prince. They turned then to another issue, and then another, each more trivial than the next, but Aglarel did what he usually did when the matter up for debate was no longer of any interest to him – he sank back into his chair and observed those around him, and took special note of the way each topic affected each person.

Brennus took the floor next and excitedly proposed to his fellow council members the notion that they elect the doppelganger Phendrana a Hero of Thultanthar, one of the highest accolades the High Prince could reward a person with and arguably one of the rarest in their society; the youngest prince then gave his testimony of the previous days' events, revealing to them all that he would have become either a prisoner or a casualty had Phendrana not been present with his menagerie of eclectic abilities at Brennus's disposal. They voted unanimously in favor of the proposal – even Aglarel grunted his agreement, for though he had yet to be particularly impressed by anything the doppelganger had done since he had come to live in the city there was no denying that the defense of a Prince of Shade was a heroic act indeed.

Lamorak spoke next with a brave and straightforward proposal to double the next lunar cycle's worth of Determining candidates, something that had never been brought to the floor of the council before and a topic they had never in their wildest dreams expected to hear with any real seriousness. Aglarel supposed he could see the logic behind his older brother's decision – after all, the Determinists Guild had suffered the most casualties in the phaerimm attack and needed to replenish their numbers somehow, and one's worth to the Determinists could only be measured through the series of aptitude tests that the Determinists themselves conducted, as per their extensive training. The problem with this idea was that it all but ignored one of the founding principles of the City of Shade – that the right to become a shade was the single greatest honor a member of Thultanthar society could ever receive. Each Shadovar only participated in one Determining the entire duration of that Shadovar's life, and the results of that Determining decided that Shadovar's entire life's purpose. The vote was not met with much enthusiasm and was ultimately rejected, but Aglarel had a feeling they had not heard the end of such ridiculous proposals.

There may have been one or two more issues presented to the council during that session, but Aglarel's attention span for his brother's petty and often pointless pursuits had waned by that point and he busied himself with something far more interesting. Though the talk of Aveil's resurrection and the many theories surrounding that turn of events had been of great interest to him, one other thing interested Aglarel even more – it was the fact that Hadrhune, often one of the most opinionated members of the Shadow Council, made not a single move to offer his view on any of the topics that were discussed that morning. He sat at the far end of the table, seated directly across from Soleil Chemaut and to the right of Eleventh Prince Melegaunt, with his eyes fixed firmly upon the fine grooves in the surface of the well-polished ebony tabletop and his hands folded gracefully in his lap. Often his fingers would intertwine suddenly and fiercely in his lap as though he were suffering some manner of intense inner turmoil, but he was quick to relax his body and seemed to be making a conscious effort to not draw attention to himself. Aglarel had never known Hadrhune to act this way – the seneschal often drew attention to himself for numerous reasons, most of which involved his conniving efforts to ensure that the High Prince noticed his ambitions, or his hard work, or his unceasing loyalty, but he remembered that Telamont and Hadrhune had arrived at the council session side by side and supposed that whatever they had been discussing in private had had some sort of significant impact on the shadow sorcerer.

When the meeting adjourned Aglarel shadow walked from his seat and directly into the High Prince's audience chamber; quick as a whip crack Telamont was there, and at the foot of the stairs leading to the sovereign's throne the Most High laid one hand upon Aglarel's shoulder.

"We will talk later," Telamont told him in a low voice, and Aglarel realized that the High Prince was only grasping his shoulder because he was pushing him, guiding him toward the door, a clear indicator that he needed to be on his way as quickly as he was able. "Hadrhune is joining me shortly, and the opportunity for you to put yourself in the Archmistress's way will be fleeting at best."

"He is keeping a careful watch on her," Aglarel said, more of a statement than an inquiry, and Telamont nodded.

"So it would seem. I will do what I can to find out why, but I think you may be more successful in your endeavors. I feel that Hadrhune does not have the answers that I require."

It was at that moment that Hadrhune appeared in their midst, his shoulders hunched in submission, but his eyes narrowed in suspicion the moment he recognized Aglarel standing there with the High Prince; Aglarel glared at him long enough to make him squirm in discomfort, and then obediently shadow walked out from beneath Telamont's hand and took his leave of the audience chamber. The thick, almost tangible darkness that comprised the majority of the Plane of Shadow welcomed him like a mother might embrace a beloved child after years of separation, and there in the blissful confines of the fathomless blackness Aglarel stroked his chin with one hand as he considered how best to proceed.

The delicate part of these proceedings, he knew, would not be gaining Aveil's trust, nor would it be ensuring that Hadrhune knew in no uncertain terms just how far from the High Prince's favor he had fallen of late. Of his siblings Aglarel had never been considered particularly manipulative and was not a known perpetrator of conspiracy or other crimes, but that was not because he had not practiced either throughout his life; no, it was because he very carefully monitored his own movements and tempered his actions with patience while employing secrecy as his greatest ally – in this way, he had made certain that his brothers knew very little of him and all that he was capable of. Securing Aveil was actually the least of his concerns, for he knew her kind and was no stranger to dealing with them – all he needed to do was promise her everything, and perhaps make one or two mundane gestures of trust, goodwill or affection to get her attention. Hadrhune would also be easily dealt with, if only because there was nothing about the seneschal more dependable than his near-constant jealousies. All Aglarel had to do was make sure that he got a little too close to Aveil for comfort and see to it that the Archmistress was no longer as assured of Hadrhune's faithfulness to her as she had been before, and Hadrhune would take care of the rest. The hardest part would be breaking down the bond that Aveil and Hadrhune had fostered and strengthened in such a short period of time, without making it seem as though their demise had come at Aglarel's hand.

So how to make it seem natural? How to be certain that he was never implicated when the fallout settled? He remembered all that the High Prince had said to him on the subject, but a precious handful of his sovereign's words stood out above all others: _Put yourself in the Archmistress's way._ A subtle approach to start the first of what would become many dealings with Aveil Arthien, he silently decided; a few questions, a couple of disarming remarks, an innocent touch or two… Just enough to get her heart beating a little faster and the first dark seed of doubt planted within her thoughts. That was all he needed to accomplish for now.

Aglarel set off through the Shadow Realm now with purpose in his step and a little smirk of assumed victory curling up the corner of his mouth, already formulating a plan as he picked his way through the formless expanse of shadow. If there was anything that amused the Fourth Prince of Shade, it was toying with pathetic mortal creatures.

This time when Aglarel returned to the Material Plane he was certain to rematerialize just outside of the door to the private quarters Aveil and Hadrhune had been given whilst the seneschal's abode in the Circle, Villa Cambria, was undergoing reconstruction; he suspected to appear directly in her midst would set her immediately on the defensive, and he needed to start breaking down her walls as soon as possible if he wanted to make any headway. He lifted his hand and rapped gently upon the door with his knuckles, the stroke light, almost amiable as it echoed up and down the hallway. He envisioned the diminutive half elf crossing the room and imagined that he could hear her footsteps, knowing that she would have no choice but to answer any summons here since she was a guest at the High Prince's mercy. He waited patiently, and was not made to tarry in the hallway long.

Aveil opened the door slowly and peeked curiously out at him, her eyes widening a little at the sight of him. Truth be told they had had very little one-on-one interaction since she had come to Thultanthar, and it couldn't be said that the time they had spent together had been companionable, or even enjoyable. He had kept watch over her to ensure that she didn't attempt to escape in the brief period she had found herself a prisoner within the dungeon in the Palace Most High and then had received her as a temporary guest when she had quarreled with Hadrhune, but otherwise had had no dealings with one another – it was understandable, he supposed, that she should be wary around him, and so he worked hard not to seem particularly imposing. She gazed up at him through the heavy curtain of her jet black hair, her violet eyes flashing fire into the depths of his soul, and inwardly Aglarel couldn't help but marvel at the power behind those eyes – she certainly knew what she was doing, that much was certain.

At length she bent at the knee and offered a curtsy of obeisance, but she never took her eyes off him. "Prince Aglarel. To what do I owe the honor?"

She opened the door a little wider in a show of being hospitable, but she did not stand away to admit him and even kept one hand upon the knob as though trying to reassure herself that she could close the door at any time. Aglarel swallowed in an effort to keep himself from laughing but remained rooted to the spot so as not to frighten her. "I am here at the High Prince's request, Archmistress."

He was certain to make his introduction as vague as possible in an effort to better gauge her mindset, and was glad at once that he had – Aveil's eyes grew even wider, and what little color that remained within her too-pale cheeks drained away, leaving her with the waxy complexion of a ghost. Her fingers upon the doorknob tightened; her knuckles stood out beneath the alabaster skin. "Why? Does he mean to imprison me?"

Aglarel chuckled softly in genuine amusement. How easily unnerved mortals were. "He means to do nothing of the sort, Archmistress. The High Prince knows that your recent ordeal was most taxing, and is concerned for your well-being. He has sent me to inquire after your health, and your state of mind."

Aveil tilted her head slightly to one side, very obviously taken aback by these words – then, Fourth Prince Aglarel had seldom been associated with such terms as well-being and health, so he supposed he could understand her confusion. The two emotions that were most prominent in her expression were conflicting and in great contrast with one another, twisting her features quite strangely – she seemed to be torn between gratitude at the High Prince's supposed concern and suspicion as to whether or not Aglarel's words held any truth to them. When at last she spoke, her voice was carefully guarded. "That is very generous. Please tell the High Prince that I am well, and that I thank him for his inquiry. I understand that he has far more important matters than the safeguarding of my health to concern himself with at this time."

Inwardly, Aglarel couldn't help feeling impressed by the diplomacy of her response. She represented herself most modestly, she was gracious, and she made no move to reveal anything more than the bare minimum required to fulfill Aglarel's inquiry. He wondered fleetingly if he had underestimated her, but shook the doubt off almost at once as he bent at the waist, feigning disinterest. "The Most High does not enter into an agreement if he feels on any level that he is not able to uphold his part of the bargain. He granted you his protection, and all that it entails – including the desire to see that you are being well looked after, and that you want for nothing." He straightened then, and offered her a rare smile – the expression was so rare, in fact, that Aveil couldn't keep her jaw from dropping when she saw it, but Aglarel pretended not to notice. "I will pass along your thanks to him – for now, Archmistress, I will bid you good day. Doubtless you are fatigued still from yesterday's events."

Aglarel was so certain that Aveil would recall him that he actually turned his back and managed three strides down the hallway away from her – then just as he had predicted, she called after him. "Wait! Prince, I don't suppose you would grant me just another minute of your time."

He turned back, pleased with this turn of events – Aveil had gone from almost unresponsive to desperate for company in no more than five seconds. "Of course. What troubles you?"

"Hadrhune." Aveil set to gnawing her full bottom lip with her teeth, but Aglarel had seen her do this before and knew that she was only feigning her worry – no, this act was merely a ploy to get his attention, to cloud his mind with amorous thoughts and throw him off his guard, and so he did well to keep his eyes firmly fixed upon her own. "I see that you are no longer in council and so I understand that the session has disbanded, but still Hadrhune has not returned. He left this place long before the meeting was said to adjourn. Please… can you tell me anything of his passing? Is he alright? Surely he hasn't come into any trouble on my account."

She was so good at pretending to be the distressed young woman so many had mistook her for that Aglarel himself almost bought into the façade, but he recovered himself at the very last moment and kept firmly to his story as he approached her slowly, pausing this time a little closer than he had before. "I cannot say, Archmistress, for Hadrhune's business with the High Prince is not something I am permitted to disclose to anyone. I did notice that he seemed distracted, perhaps even a little dejected during this morning's council meeting, but I thought little of it." He was certain to explain in such a way that Aveil had no question as to whether or not Aglarel had the information she wanted, for he was certain that she would take the bait and inquire further.

Aveil was quick to leap at the opportunity. "Please, Prince – do not deny me counsel here. If you know if something has befallen him, let it become known to me. If he has come into some misfortune, it is on account of me."

"Oh?" Aglarel crossed his arms, his demeanor changing, the kindness in his voice wiped clean now as instinct took over. "What makes you say that? Have you committed some offense that the High Prince should be punishing Hadrhune for?"

Aveil blanched, but knew she had asked one too many questions. "Of course not, that's not what I – "

"Come now, Aveil," purred the Fourth Prince, and his ceremonial fangs glinted as he smiled malevolently back at her. "If your guilty conscience did not fuel your inquiry, then what did? Such anxieties cannot be commonplace for you – you haven't transgressed that I know of, so what reason could you possibly have to be so afraid?"

He watched her with his deadly shrewd gaze as he finished, searching her expression and reading volumes into her telling body language. Aveil had to know that she had been caught spinning her inconsistent story – her breathing was shallower and each gasp came more quickly, her eyes had dilated with each passing word, and the set of her shoulders was rigid with anticipation. Aglarel couldn't help feeling pleased with himself at the trap he had set for her – no matter how she responded, she was certain to be caught in a lie. If she maintained that she had been nothing but the High Prince's model citizen since her arrival, there was always the chance that proof existed to condemn her otherwise. If she admitted to her tryst with Hadrhune outright, there would surely be consequences for her behavior. Aglarel knew which she would choose, and found himself excited for the outcome.

"I have no reason to fear you, or the High Prince, or anyone," the Archmistress snapped, regaining some measure of her composure, and in an attempt to make herself feel more empowered she at last dropped her hand from the doorknob and faced him at her full height – which was nothing impressive, as she stood just under five feet tall and Aglarel was well over six. "Hadrhune is the nearest thing I have to a confidante in this place. You have deprived me of any suitable counsel – who else am I to turn to when I am troubled?"

"You may confide in me." The words were out of his mouth before he had given them any real consideration, but it was too late to rescind them for Aveil was regarding him dubiously now so Aglarel did the only thing he could do: he acted as though he had said nothing out of the ordinary, that he had meant to offer his shoulder all along. "What is it that you find so troubling?"

Aveil barked out a harsh laugh and set her hands upon her hips, accentuating her curves as she leaned toward him in what she surely hoped was an intimidating fashion. "I have no reason to confide in you! You are a Prince of Shade, and can't possibly be interested in my personal affairs. Besides, do you not have your own pursuits to attend to? The only reason you could possibly wish to hear my testimony is because you are hoping I will reveal something incriminating, that you might report it to the Most High."

She had him there, Aglarel privately conceded, but he wasn't about to tell her as much. Instead he spread his hands disarmingly, all traces of his earlier enmity long since buried. "But you have already said that you have nothing to hide, haven't you? I have no reason to doubt you, and so I have chosen to take you at your word. As I said before, the High Prince has charged me with seeing that you are well taken care of – if that means that I am to serve as your counselor, or your confidante, or whatever else it is that you might require of me, then I am at your disposal."

Now she was truly trapped, for now if she chose not to confide in him it could be inferred that she had something to hide after all. Aveil glared up at him for a moment longer as though daring him to belittle her and her petty mortal concerns, and then at last she stood away from the door to admit him.

Aglarel glanced around inconspicuously as he crossed the threshold and shut the door with a polite little snap behind him, scanning the room for anything that might have changed since he had visited her in secret several hours before. The room looked as tidy as ever – both beds were neatly made, the breakfast that the High Prince's housekeeping staff had set out had already been removed, and there was nothing left behind to suggest that anything out of the ordinary had occurred here. Aglarel may have been fooled by these appearances were he not so well versed in the comings and goings of all those who visited the Palace Most High, but as Telamont's head of security he had long since made it his personal duty to well acquaint himself with all that happened within the palace walls – because of those efforts, he knew that the housekeeping staff did not make their rounds to tidy the rooms until eleven o' clock sharp, which was still an hour away. Aveil had gone to great pains to ensure that she wouldn't draw any undue suspicion her way – which was really quite clever, given that she couldn't have known Aglarel would come to call on her.

"You wished to confess," Aglarel reminded her, for when he focused his attention on her it was to find that Aveil was standing firmly in the middle of the room looking as out of place as he had ever seen her; he sat down on the foot of the bed nearest to the door and made a show of making himself comfortable, secretly amused at the discomfort in her face. "Unburden your conscience, Archmistress."

Aveil got right to the point, something Aglarel was not expecting; she leaned against the wall across from him, her pale arms crossed over her ample bosom, her head tilted to one side as she eyed him with a cold, condescending expression. "I cannot say that I feel very welcome here, Prince – truth be told I haven't since I first set foot in the High Prince's audience chamber with Hadrhune in tow."

Aglarel remembered well the instance she referred to, for he had been present for that momentous occasion – Aveil had shadow walked right into Telamont's private audience chamber completely unannounced, half-dragging Hadrhune's incoherent body alongside her and fresh from a battle with the wraith-form of Lim Tal'eyve. It was not only a gross display of disrespect for the High Prince of the City of Shade but further proof that Aveil was in possession of at least a limited knowledge of the Shadow Weave, something that, as a worshipper of the goddess Mystra, was considered heresy in Thultanthar society and was easily punishable by death. It was no wonder that she had felt unwelcome – she had been received as a hostile, and had been imprisoned shortly after on suspicion of treason. Aglarel felt it was best to be straightforward with her on this matter. "You entered the palace unannounced and uninvited. At first glance it appeared you were responsible for Hadrhune's ailing health. You had knowledge of the Shadow Weave, which is forbidden to those who are not of Shar's faith."

"Be that as it may," Aveil snapped, rolling her eyes to the ceiling, "I was an innocent. I came to you and your master in good faith, with good intentions. Does your society know nothing of the common practice known as 'innocent until proven guilty'?"

"With all due respect, Archmistress," Aglarel responded with a devious little chuckle, "we recognize it, but we ourselves do not practice it. We cannot afford to allow such leniency to be present in our judicial system."

"I am of the opinion that your judicial system is in dire need of a reform," Aveil informed him dryly, "but that is not the topic of this discussion, nor do I wish it to be for I sense that we will never agree. What I mean to say is this – you received me with hostility, you imprisoned me, you interrogated me, and finally, you isolated me. Now I suspect that the cycle will start again and progress in much the same way as it did the first time, given the progression of yesterday's events."

"And you could not be more correct." Aglarel leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, a very serious expression on his face as he regarded her. "Tell me – how do you feel the High Prince should have proceeded against you? Do you feel that you have been treated unfairly, or unjustly? Or is it simply that the High Prince acted in his best interests, and the interests of his city, and that was unfavorable to you?"

Aveil glared inhospitably back at him, fuming at the logic of his words, and promptly changed tactics. "I will grant you that the Most High has acted as any monarch could be expected to act in such situations – I do not hold it against him, for I am nothing but grateful for his generosity, and his mercy. But the more I consider it, the more certain I am that he placed Hadrhune in my path to undo me."

Aglarel's eyebrows shot up in surprise at this, but he had enough self control to keep himself from answering right away. To think that it had been Telamont's intention from the very start to use Hadrhune in this way was foresight he hadn't thought the Archmistress to be capable of. He continued to watch her as his mind processed just what she was saying, marveling at her expression – it was as though she was daring him to refute that which she had claimed. Had she already made her mind up when it came to Hadrhune? Was she even now viewing the shadow sorcerer with a certain measure of mistrust?

He needed to gain her trust, anyway, and had intended from the very start to drive a wedge between her and Hadrhune as per the High Prince's instructions, and so he did the only thing that seemed logical to do – he lied, and fueled her suspicions in doing so. "Since you have professed your desire for sound counsel and the High Prince has charged me with fulfilling your every whim, I will tell you – that which you fear is somewhat true. The High Prince was aware of your previous liaison with Hadrhune, when your seat of power was still at the Citadel of Assassins – he does not hold such a thing against either of you, but he did use it to his advantage. I understand that you feel more, shall we say, _comfortable_ around Hadrhune than you do with the rest of us, and I know that of late the High Prince feels that Hadrhune's judgment is somewhat clouded when he is around you, but yes – he placed Hadrhune in your way from the beginning, in the hopes that in fostering an attraction between the two of you, you would conform a little more easily to his will."

Understandably, Aveil was furious. "You mean to say that the Most High has been guiding Hadrhune's actions from the start?! Since Hadrhune first appeared in Neverwinter, under the pretense of protecting me from Lim Tal'eyve?!"

The Fourth Prince knew well the circumstance of which she spoke, if only because he had thought it ludicrous at the time: Hadrhune had already fallen in too deep with Aveil to be redeemed very easily, and as punishment for his lapse in judgment the High Prince had charged Hadrhune with standing against the lichdrow as he preyed upon the Archmistress at her residence in Neverwinter. Hadrhune had all but leapt at the opportunity, and it had almost spelled the end of him. Purely for his own amusement Aglarel said, "Yes, unfortunately – the depths of Hadrhune's deceptions are astounding, I know."

"But…" Aveil's arms dropped helplessly to her sides, and as the full realization of what it all meant settled upon her like an exceedingly heavy weight it seemed she might succumb to tears. "But he nearly died trying to protect me. How…?"

Aglarel shrugged nonchalantly. "Hadrhune is the High Prince's most trusted emissary for a good reason, Archmistress. If he couldn't accomplish this much, the Most High would hardly have a place for him in his court, now would he?"

For a moment Aveil's face was so crestfallen that Aglarel was certain she had taken his lies deeply to heart, but in the blink of an eye her face had hardened and she had crossed her arms defiantly over her chest again. He wondered at her sudden change in demeanor, but as with all things she made her true feelings known with no further prompting from him. "You are lying."

The assassin's shoulders shook with a bout of soft, gravelly laughter that prickled Aveil's skin, and he took his feet with hardly a sound. "You will believe what you like, I see – that has always been your way, though, has it not?"

"I have no reason to trust you," she snapped, "and I was foolish to seek your counsel at all. I know your kind – you will say anything, do anything, to achieve your own ends. You can be assured that I will tell Hadrhune all that you have said when he returns, and we will see how quickly your lies become exposed after that!"

Aglarel shrugged and moved for the door as though it hardly mattered what she thought, and setting his hand upon the knob he turned back to regard her as he said, "You are free to tell Hadrhune every word that I have said here, but it will do you no good. He will deny it all, as can be expected, for he would be a poor emissary indeed if he confessed to the true depths of the High Prince's schemes, wouldn't he? You will accomplish nothing - unless causing undue discord is your aim, then I daresay you will be achieving that with no help from me." He meant to leave those as his parting words to her, and only kept speaking because he thought he could do far better. "Sooner or later you will learn that the favor of the High Prince is all that matters in this place, and that your success or your downfall will be the result of how desperately you covet it. Whatever foolish mortal emotions you think you may have for Hadrhune will only serve to condemn you – you will learn to devote yourself completely to the Most High's every whim, or you will continue to oppose his will and ultimately perish. The choice is yours – I will leave you to it."

He could tell that Aveil had dozens of things to say, but his words were so unexpected that she hadn't had ample time to articulate her retort; while she was still reeling for something to say Aglarel nodded once at her in a kind of wordless goodbye and let himself out, shutting the door smartly behind him in the hopes that she wouldn't chase him down the hallway.


	4. That Devil, Reconnoitering

That Devil, Reconnoitering

_Even his thoughts of Aveil Arthien were not enough to keep her out – she appeared in his mind now as surely as he had been thinking of her all along, quick with her opinions and faster than he was with her words. "I suppose you think yourself quite clever."_

"_I generally do," he told her scathingly, for now was not the time for her intrusions as he had much still that needed to be accomplished._

_She wasn't at all interested in the rushed tone of his voice, or at least she didn't care to acknowledge it. "You think that if you continue to push the Archmistress and the shadow sorcerer apart that the rest of your foul schemes will just fall right into place, but you're wrong. How many times must I tell you that there is more at stake here than tricking the truth out of one inconsequential harlot?"_

_He laughed at her then, for he just couldn't help it. "Inconsequential? Shar herself charged my older brother Rivalen with ensuring that Aveil didn't fall into the hands of Lim Tal'eyve. The lichdrow is so desperate to get his hands on the Archmistress that he led a horde of our greatest enemies directly into the city just so that he could cut her down, and what happened then? She was restored to life for reasons completely unknown to us, not even an hour before she had passed beyond the veil. You cannot deny that more than one entity is very interested in Aveil's passing – the why has yet to be determined, but rest assured, I will find the answers."_

"_You think that all the answers you desire will fall into your lap the moment you have coerced the girl into giving you what you want," she drawled in a bored sort of voice, and he could feel her presence slowly seeping out of his consciousness. "The truth is that she is at the heart of something far bigger than she is, and that she is too simpleminded to even fathom the far-reaching consequences of all that she does."_

"_We will see," he answered, but his words lacked their earlier conviction and it was obvious he was intrigued by what she had said._

"_I can see that you are determined to be stubborn for now," she said with a pout, "so I will let you continue to do so, at your own peril. But I must warn you to be wary, my son. Your current path will undoubtedly lead you to ruin. I have half a mind to request an audience with your father, that I may put my concerns to him for all your sakes."_

"_You could make such a request," Aglarel chuckled, "but the High Prince seldom entertains riffraff in his hall."_

"_Try to keep in mind that he entertained me once," she reminded him sternly, "and that if he hadn't, you would not be a part of this world."_

* * *

Aglarel was frowning down at the ground, positively furious that he hadn't gotten the last word with her, when he turned the corner for the stairs to the ground floor and nearly knocked Fifth Prince Clariburnus from his feet. The commander of the Army of Shade, though, was far more burly in stature than Aglarel and seemed unaffected by it, even going so far as to laugh and help stand the assassin upright – this only further soured Aglarel's mood, but Clariburnus seemed not to mind.

"Excellent, and here you are," said his brother briskly, following along in Aglarel's wake as the Fourth Prince stalked down the stairs to the ground floor. "The High Prince has requested you – he is receiving Brennus and Phendrana now, and asked that I collect you." There was a pause, during which only the sound of Clariburnus's booted feet striking the floor could be heard, and then Telamont's warrior son finished suspiciously, "What were you doing in the suites?"

It took every ounce of self-control Aglarel could muster to keep from rudely reminding his brother that his business was his own and he had no cause or reason to explain his actions to his technical inferior, but somehow he managed it. There was little point in making his dealings with Aveil more difficult by making his story inconsistent, so he kept to the lies he had already spun in order to avoid any discrepancies later. "I am to serve as the Archmistress's counsel, it seems. I have just come from hearing her testimonies."

Clariburnus cocked an eyebrow. "She requested your ear? How strange."

"She requested nothing of the sort – the High Prince has charged me with it, and so I am merely carrying out his wishes."

His younger brother let out a hearty guffaw at this, drawing several glances from passing palace guards and attendants, and Aglarel ground his teeth in irritation but didn't break stride. Clariburnus continued to chuckle all down the hallway, until they had reached the great double doors that led to the High Prince's audience chamber and he said, "I do not know how you find the patience within yourself to carry out some of the tasks the High Prince commands you to do. To serve as the ear for that manipulative little shrew… I would sooner put my glaive through her spine than provide her with counsel!"

"Perhaps that is why the High Prince does not choose you to carry out many tasks that do not involve you mindlessly brandishing your weapon," Aglarel drawled disinterestedly, and though Clariburnus's eyes flashed they were interrupted then when the doors opened and Brennus exited the audience chamber with his pet doppelganger in tow.

"Words cannot express my envy," Clariburnus hailed them, and for his part Aglarel thought he could understand the root of his brother's jealousy. Brennus had mentioned at the morning's council session that he had completed his most recent translation of the Nether Scroll that the doppelganger had delivered to him from Manifest – Aglarel only vaguely recalled his words, for he had been busy studying Hadrhune at the time. Contained within the scroll was the whereabouts of a stronghold of their Netherese ancestors that was thought to contain a trove of weapons from a previous age, and the High Prince had charged Brennus with plundering it and returning his finds to the Palace Most High. "A Netherese armory! Imagine the artifacts you will find if the armory has remained sealed and untouched all these years! I do so wish that I could accompany you, brother." Clariburnus glanced at Phendrana as he finished, as though he had just finished adding two and two together successfully after much difficulty. "You are going with him? You are lucky. I would trade much to be a part of this expedition."

The doppelganger seemed somewhat dismayed, presumably because he had already struck up some measure of camaraderie with the battle captain; Aglarel resisted the urge to roll his eyes, a reflex he seemed to be fighting to sublimate more and more each day. "Can you not request to travel alongside us?"

"I attempted to do so at council this morning – and I assure you, I was not the only one! – but the Most High was adamant," Clariburnus told him. "Rivalen is hard at work divining the location of the portal Lim Tal'eyve conjured that connected to Thultanthar, and when he has the answer I will be leading an army to wipe out the phaerimm that escaped. Organizing the war party is now the High Prince's highest priority – he has elevated this beyond even our continued negotiations with Waterdeep and Silverymoon."

Aglarel listened with a placid expression, but inwardly he was quite taken aback by these words. To assume that Lim Tal'eyve possessed the power to not only bypass the security measures that encompassed the boundaries of Thultanthar but was capable of amassing such an overwhelming force of phaerimm and bending them to his will was quite a lofty claim indeed. Had the High Prince really said such words while Aglarel had been lost in his own musings and observing, as he so often did? He made a mental note to question his sovereign on the matter but put it aside for the moment, for his youngest brother was speaking now and he didn't want to miss anything else that might be crucial to his task.

"Then take great care," Brennus was saying concernedly. "I have not seen a group of phaerimm of that size in centuries. They will be formidable foes when you catch up with them… leave nothing to chance."

"Believe me," said Clariburnus bracingly, ushering them aside and leading Aglarel forward as he did so, "I do not intend to take the phaerimm lightly. Perhaps I will visit with you on the matter later on this evening, but this is where I must leave you for now. The Most High wishes to begin formulating battle plans right away." He said nothing of why the High Prince had summoned Aglarel, and Brennus and Phendrana were possessed of the good sense not to pry; the Fourth Prince slipped wordlessly between them and followed Telamont's battle captain through the great double doors, still mulling over this newest theory that Lim Tal'eyve had orchestrated a portal through his prized security system.

The High Prince was prowling about the audience chamber, pacing with impatient, wrathful steps back and forth near the edge of the basin that was the world window; he did not acknowledge their presence for several minutes, not until Clariburnus cleared his throat and bowed low. This time Aglarel did roll his eyes – had it been up to him he would have stood quietly by until the Most High had finished his contemplations and was ready to receive him, but clearly Clariburnus was only interested in his business and little else. "Most High, I have brought Aglarel at your request. If it pleases you, I am ready to begin formulating our plan of attack against the escaped phaerimm colony."

Telamont waved his hand as if he was swatting at an irksome fly. "Your lust for combat will have to wait to be appeased – leave us. I have a matter of great importance to discuss with Aglarel. I will call for you later."

Clariburnus bowed again, though he looked for all the world like a dog that had just been kicked by its master. "As you command, Most High One." He spared Aglarel one sidelong glance of burning curiosity before he dissolved into his own shadow and dismissed himself.

The Fourth Prince knelt down to one knee and ducked his head solemnly. "Holy Father."

"Rise," snapped Telamont hurriedly, and Aglarel hastened to do as commanded so that he could appease the High Prince at once. His sovereign was more animate now than he had been during their brief meeting after the morning council session, and briefly Aglarel wondered if something had happened during his private audience with Hadrhune that was now the cause of such disquiet. He wasn't made to wonder for long; Telamont gestured to the world window, which Aglarel now saw had been playing soundlessly the entire time, and the Fourth Prince approached the rim of the basin and glanced down just as Telamont willed the mystical device to project sound.

Aglarel's quizzical expression quickly became one of near glee when he recognized the scene before him: Hadrhune and Aveil stood facing one another, the former in a state of utter confusion mixed with swiftly-mounting rage and the latter perfectly incensed. The Fourth Prince let out a sound then that could only be called a cackle of pure malevolence, and Telamont glanced at him with one raised eyebrow even as the figures reflected in the pool began to speak.

"Do you honestly mean to have me believe that every word he spoke is a downright _lie_?!" Aveil was shrieking in her hysteria. "I am not the fool that you would take me for! I trusted your word in the beginning because I felt that the promises we made to one another meant something to you, but now I see that everything the prince has said is true after all! He even warned me that if I confronted you with this information that you would utterly deny it, which is precisely what you have done!"

"Because his words hold no truth to them!" Hadrhune roared, flinging his darkstaff into one corner of the room, seemingly oblivious that several angry black sparks leapt from the head of the scepter on impact and scorched the wall. "Of course an innocent man will defend himself against claims that are false! Have I not made it clear to you that I have been as true to you as I can be, given the nature of my relationship to the High Prince and the edicts he has passed down to keep us apart?! Need I remind you that he has _forbidden _us to be together?!"

"So you say!" Aveil retorted with a rather undignified snort.

"And why are you turning to Fourth Prince Aglarel for counsel?!" Hadrhune countered, stalking toward her and seizing her by the shoulders as he attempted to shake the madness out of her. "Do you not suppose that is why I am still here, constantly in danger of falling out of the High Prince's favor?! Has it not occurred to you that Aglarel's real aim is to make you question me, and to supplant me from you?!"

"And why, do you suppose, would he do such a thing?" Aveil asked loftily, in a tone that made it quite clear that she doubted very much Hadrhune could come up with a good answer to this.

"Because he is as deceitful as they come, and works only to achieve his own ends?!" the seneschal fired back, and for a moment that spanned an eternity they stood facing one another with animosity veritably emanating from their bodies.

High Prince Telamont took the momentary reprieve in the conversation to turn to Aglarel, who was still gazing delightedly down at the world window looking unbelievably smug. "Are you responsible for this?"

"I am," said Aglarel, his words saturated with his own selfish pleasure. "The Archmistress is impressionable – even I was surprised at just how quickly her allegiance to Hadrhune was swayed."

Telamont waved his hand over the world window, and though the picture continued to be displayed upon the surface of the glistening pool the sound of the pair's angry voices faded away until it was little more than a barely audible buzzing in the background. "Then it matters not what you told her. Has she confessed by what means she was recovered from the beyond?"

This question took a little of the mirth from Aglarel's expression. "Not yet, Holy Father, but I assure you that I will continue with my subtle interrogations until I have the answers you require. As closely as she guards herself and as traumatized as she seems by these recent events, I am almost certain that there is more to the story than a simple bargain made with some extraplanar entity in return for her humanity."

The High Prince was nodding along thoughtfully, though his eyes had strayed back to the world window where both parties seemed to have calmed down somewhat. As they watched Hadrhune cradled Aveil's face in his hands and gently kissed her, and it seemed to Aglarel that perhaps she was crying; the seneschal eased her down into bed and whispered fervently into her ear, and after a minute or two the diminutive spellcaster actually fell soundly asleep. Hadrhune stood at her bedside for a moment, hesitating, his uncertainty plain in his burning amber eyes, and then his expression smoothed over with resolve and he shadow walked out of the suite. Aveil's brow creased in her sleep and she tossed fitfully for a moment, but the seneschal's departure didn't wake her and she continued to slumber restlessly.

"Perhaps not as easily swayed as you hoped?" Telamont observed, and though Aglarel ground his teeth in frustration he couldn't bring himself to feel very concerned about all they had seen. Hadrhune's hold on Aveil was tentative now at best; despite the fact that he had assuaged the Archmistress with his promises and his displays of sickening affection it was clear that the seed of doubt had been sown more deeply in Aveil's mind than she would ever care to admit, which was all Aglarel had been hoping for when he had visited her.

Instead of answering outright Aglarel admitted, "I have had little time to observe her physical condition. Last night I visited her shortly after I departed here with a mind to do so, but she was still awake and so I was unable."

Telamont gestured at the world window as if pointing out the obvious. "It would seem that now is your best opportunity; she sleeps, and for the moment she is unguarded. You will have to be quick – I cannot imagine that Hadrhune will have left her alone for very long."

Aglarel nodded and turned his back on the world window, preparing to pass through one of the many extradimensional tears in reality that the shades were so keen at locating, but he remembered his inquiry and paused. "Your theory that Lim Tal'eyve opened a portal into Thultanthar and allowed the phaerimm to pass through it… is that what you truly believe happened, or was it a story you fabricated to appease the other princes?"

"For now," the High Prince answered cryptically, "let us say it was both."

Knowing that he had no place to question his sovereign further Aglarel simply continued about his task, and without another word he slipped into the Shadow Realm. This time he did not linger, for he knew that time was of the essence; he made with all speed through the curtains of fathomless darkness, a wraith in its natural element, and all manner of creatures that marked his passing did well to avoid him as he went.

* * *

It was mostly dark in the suite when Aglarel admitted himself, and in a shower of shadow particles he suddenly found himself at Aveil Arthien's bedside. In his haste to be off for wherever it was he was bound Hadrhune had left his darkstaff in the corner of the room where it had landed; the embers that had erupted from the head had cooled, but the scorch marks on the wall remained to serve as testimony to the depth of the seneschal's anger. The curtains were drawn, and the room might have been almost completely lightless were it not for the trio of lit candles that burned in the pewter candelabra set upon the end table, their flames casting a deep purple light upon the walls; the eerie violet candlelight threw Aveil's sleeping face into strange contrast with her oddly-translucent skin, making her look even more spectral than before. Instinctively Aglarel reached out one hand toward her, suddenly curious to know the consistency of her skin and what it felt like; the ebon-skinned fingertips of his right hand traced the delicate curve of her left cheekbone, and he was surprised to find that her skin was warm and soft like any normal, healthy human's might be.

"Then you really are alive," he murmured aloud, marveling at the tear tracks beneath his fingertips, evidence that she continued to cry even in her sleep, "though for appearances' sake, you probably shouldn't be. What are you hiding, I wonder?"

He knelt down at her side and retracted his hand, feeling flustered. Wraiths didn't sleep, and they certainly didn't possess the ability to exhibit normal physical functions such as crying, so the possibility that that was the explanation was slim to none. She wasn't a ghost, either – that much he had determined earlier simply by conversing with her, for ghosts didn't retain the memories of their physical lives and Aveil had spoken of familiar things that her spiritual form wouldn't have the capacity to recall. Were it not for the translucency of her skin he would have been utterly convinced that her resurrection had been a complete success, but that characteristic remained that continued to make him question everything he thought he knew about her.

"Who has recalled you from the afterlife to inhabit this hollow shell of a body," Aglarel whispered, "and why?"

His musings were interrupted then, for he was so attuned to even the most minute shift within the Shadow Plane that he felt several presences moving through that alternate space drawing very near to his position; abruptly Aglarel was on his feet and stealing stealthily through the candlelit suite, for he didn't dare risk joining those that approached in the Plane of Shadow for fear they would cross paths and his presence would become known. Instead he made for the door that stood opposite the entrance to the suite, which led to an adjoining restroom, and hoped that he wouldn't be discovered there. Doubtless it was Hadrhune returning with his own trusted counsel, and if that was so there were answers yet to be had.

The trailing hem of Aglarel's assassin's cloak was just whipping around the corner as the first of three figures sprang up from the deepening shadows of the room, and he eased the door closed until he had only a fraction of space to glance through into the chamber. Fortunately Hadrhune seemed to be rather preoccupied, for he didn't seem to think that anything was amiss; the two shadows accompanying him solidified into the figures of Brennus and Phendrana, both of whom, Aglarel noticed, seemed baffled as to why they had been brought to Hadrhune's temporary living quarters within the palace. The Fourth Prince shrank back from the crack in the door as his youngest brother and the doppelganger inspected their new surroundings, and put his eye back to the gap the moment he heard their hushed voices strike up in conversation.

"Forgive me, Prince Brennus," Hadrhune was saying hoarsely; he had one hand clamped down upon the loremaster's wrist, a sure sign that Brennus had nearly been drawn into touching the slumbering Archmistress as Aglarel himself had done barely a minute before. "I am aware that I am overstepping my bounds, but I must insist that you refrain from waking her. Already she is suspicious of my intentions – this is the first rest she has allowed herself to take since she returned from beyond the Veil."

So Aveil was wary of sleeping, Aglarel noted with interest – yet another indicator that the sorceress had something to hide. He watched with great interest as Brennus knelt down at the Archmistress's bedside to further inspect, always careful not to touch her, for Hadrhune stood over his shoulder at all times wearing an expression of barely constrained retribution, and after a moment sat back on his heels and exhaled sharply. "What sorcery is this?"

"I don't understand," the seneschal whispered back, and Aglarel could heartily relate to that sentiment.

"I mean that some ill has obviously befallen her, but the nature of this particular affliction is beyond my ability to comprehend – much less begin to treat." Brennus stood up then, his head cocked slightly to one side as he continued in a soft but incredulous voice. "I would insist that she is a wraith, but the symptoms do not coincide. She breathes. She sleeps. Have you seen her consume anything? Food? Water?"

"Yes. Both."

"She bathes? She relieves herself regularly?"

"Yes." Hadrhune's frustration was swiftly mounting; his hands were clenching and unclenching involuntarily at his sides, as though he wished for nothing more than to throttle someone. "I monitor all of her movements very closely. With the exception of her unexplainable physical state, she behaves no differently than before."

Brennus may have uttered something menacing beneath his breath in response, but Aglarel had retreated within his own thoughts to brood and did not hear the words. His theory that Aveil was not a wraith but a living creature with a very real problem had just been confirmed, and he had never been one to refute any of Brennus's hypotheses. Despite the fact that his growing attraction to the doppelganger often served as a conflict of interest to his more important duties the loremaster's judgment was almost always sound, and he was very knowledgeable in a wide range of subject matter. Aglarel moved away from the door for a moment and leaned back against the wall, running a hand down his face as he sifted through the day's many perplexing events, and cursed himself for being so inattentive as a few seconds later he heard someone gasp, followed by Brennus's tense whisper of the words, "What is it?"

Aglarel hastened back to the door that stood ever so slightly ajar beside him, careful not to make any noise in his hurry; Hadrhune and Brennus stood facing a shell-shocked Phendrana, and the latter was clutching his arm with concern etched into his every feature. The doppelganger was gazing down at Aveil's sleeping face with something like abject horror in his eyes – Aglarel wondered what could possibly have happened to unnerve the doppelganger so, and had his answer in the next moment when Phendrana hissed, "She is soulless."

Predictably Hadrhune was upon the doppelganger at once, but Aglarel hardly spared a second thought for the seneschal's characteristic spurt of violence for he was now so surprised that he paid the three men in the next room very little attention. These matters were by no means a part of his area of expertise – generally the affairs he made himself a part of were covert matters, such as the need for an interrogation or a stealthy assassination at his sovereign's order; Rivalen, the High Priest of the Church of Shar and something of an authority on the matter of resurrection, and Dethud, one of the only necromancers residing within Thultanthar and the most knowledgeable amongst them when it came to the undead, would have been able to understand what was happening now with little difficulty. As it was, Aglarel could scarcely believe what he had just heard – under what circumstances was a person able to survive without something as precious as a soul?

The Fourth Prince instinctively moved his hand to his breast, remembering keenly a time when hundreds of years ago he would have felt a gently-pulsing heartbeat beneath his palm. No one before or since Aglarel Tanthul had ever offered a soul up so readily for the High Prince to take, and no other man descended from the proud Netherese archwizards could claim to have suffered so unprotestingly through the ritual that robbed them of their souls and replaced all that made them men with the purest form of shadow. Yet even Aglarel recalled the agony of that sacrifice, and even now felt a certain measure of unease every time he placed his hand upon his breast and felt nothing but the rise and fall associated with his own breathing. How could one survive as such a hollow shell? Was such a thing even physically possible?

"On what grounds are you making such an audacious claim?!" Hadrhune was hissing in the doppelganger's face, and though the High Prince had named the seneschal as Aglarel's unassuming target the Fourth Prince couldn't help snickering softly to himself at the blatant terror in the doppelganger's eyes. "Do you truly believe that just because you are here at the Most High's invitation that you now have the authority to speak and behave however – "

Predictably Twelfth Prince Brennus intervened on his new pet's behalf, in as stern a voice as Aglarel had ever heard his even-tempered brother use. "Hadrhune, release Phendrana _this instant_, or I will tear the shadow orb from your body."

"But Prince - !"

"Do you think I will not keep my word on this? Do you think me incapable? Me, the son of Most High Telamont?"

Aglarel thought such melodrama was unnecessary – had he been in Brennus's shoes he would have used physical force to get the results he desired, and delighted in taking Hadrhune down a peg or two, but he couldn't deny the effectiveness of the loremaster's words; the seneschal roughly released Phendrana, who immediately retreated to Brennus's side with all the haste and loyalty of a well-trained dog. Predictably Brennus turned to the doppelganger and indulged in his ridiculous, ungrounded theories. "Tell me what you meant by soulless."

"While you were talking I infiltrated her mind," Phendrana told them obediently, his still-frightened gaze fixed carefully upon the floor while Hadrhune continued to seethe quietly to himself, "for that is how I am able to best gauge a situation that I am not directly involved in. There are advantages to perusing a person's thoughts while they sleep – dreams may be chaotic and difficult to follow at times, but more often than not they contain fragments of true events that have occurred recently in the person's life, and while the target slumbers their mental resistance functions at its lowest level. Aveil happened to be dreaming about the events that occurred between her and Lim Tal'eyve during her brief sojourn beyond the Veil."

"Go on," Brennus prompted, and Aglarel pressed his eye earnestly to the crack in the door, keen not to miss a single detail of this unorthodox testimony.

"Much of the dialogue that passed between them was heavily fragmented, and I sensed that I missed much of it, but I watched her accept that ring from him." Phendrana gestured to something upon the Archmistress's hand as he said this, though Hadrhune moved to inspect it then and blocked Aglarel's view. "I have seen such artifacts in my travels, for my unusual abilities often land me in situations that involve even more unusual fare; I believe that ring is the manifestation of Aveil's current state, or the empty vessel, as it is often referred to. It is the object that sustains one's life in circumstances that would otherwise be unlivable – in this case, it is what keeps her alive despite the fact that she has no soul residing within her body."

"How can you be certain of this?" Hadrhune demanded, careful, it seemed, not to wake the still-slumbering sorceress of whom they spoke.

"I have seen enough of deplorable states of life and death that I can sense these things," Phendrana answered somewhat despondently, and he ran a hand down his face as though quite unnerved by all that he had learned. "Trust me on this, for I am certain – the ring sustains her life. I suspect if you remove it, she will be forever lost."

The three men crowded near the Archmistress's bedside exchanged bleak glances, thoroughly downtrodden as they considered the likely outcome of Aveil's unfortunate situation, until Hadrhune straightened from his crouching position and turned to face them. He hadn't quite mastered his own expression – the hopelessness was easy for Aglarel to read, there beneath his forced façade of indifference – but he said gruffly, "If it's all the same to you, I'll have that drink now."

Brennus offered him a nod, all enmity lost now to his pity of the other man, and the three figures dissolved into particles of shadow as they shifted from the Material Plane back into the Plane of Shadow, still completely unaware of Aglarel's presence among them. The Fourth Prince waited until the shadow vapor that was the by-product of their sudden dimensional shift had diluted upon the air or settled upon the monochrome carpet underfoot, and then he eased the bathroom door open and padded out of hiding to approach Aveil's bedside again.

Though he was still dubious of the doppelganger's know how, Aglarel had to admit that the wild tale Phendrana had spun seemed sound enough. He knew little of the doppelganger's abilities save that he was of a high caliber of mindspy called mindmasters in passing; these increasingly rare individuals commanded the most impressive mind magic known to the Realms, drawing their abilities from the spellbooks of the mindspies, the psionists, the cerebrex, and just about any other sub-class of wizard whose abilities depended almost solely upon their unparalleled grasp of telepathy and telekinesis. He had heard tell that Phendrana was one of the most impressive mindmasters ever to walk Faerun, for not only was he particularly adept in the Art he was a born doppelganger, a species known for being very in tune with their minds from a very early age. Could it not stand to reason, then, that the doppelganger had the ability to read Aveil's dreams while she slept, and interpret them as factual?

Aglarel shook his head, growing increasingly skeptical as he considered such a rootless idea. Certainly the doppelganger had seen these things within Aveil's subconscious mind, but how much truth did this stream of barely coherent images really hold? He supposed it was even more probable that Aveil's dreams were outlandish and chaotic, a true testament to the turbulence her life seemed to be undergoing recently, and that little could be inferred from glimpsing such thoughts save that her recent ordeal had left her mentally unstable. As much as Aglarel wanted to believe that a major piece of the puzzle had just miraculously fallen into place for him, he knew it would be foolish to accept the doppelganger's words as truth and leave it at that. The margin for error was too great, and he wasn't in the habit of reporting back to the Most High with anything less than concrete proof and absolute certainty that he had accomplished his task to the very best of his ability.

Nevertheless he still allowed his eyes to wander down the gentle curve of Aveil's arm to her left hand, where upon her littlest finger there rested a ring that Aglarel was certain he had never seen her wear before. It wasn't anything so spectacular that he would have cursed himself for not noticing it before – just a thin silver band that curved around a trilliant-cut stone that may have been diamond, perhaps, or the palest, most delicate crystal. It reflected the violet light from the candelabra in a most intriguing way, for the light didn't shine off he polished surface of the gem but rather absorbed into the depths of the lucid crystal, almost as though the stone was yearning for something, anything, that might fill the void that lurked beneath its radiant surface. Aglarel put out the index finger of his right hand and unthinkingly stroked the glittering gem, mesmerized by the way the light from the flames twisted and became dark purple smoke when it hit the translucent diamond, and it occurred to him: the gem was the same consistency as the Archmistress's skin, moderately see through and devoid of any real substance.

He snatched his hand back as this realization struck him, suddenly worried that if he became too enamored of the strange object that it would attempt to utterly consume him in order to continue fueling Aveil's wretched state of half-life. Were the doppelganger's words true after all? Had Aveil really met the lichdrow Lim Tal'eyve beyond the veil, and accepted the ring that would sustain her life while her soul remained somewhere in limbo? Was this seemingly insignificant accessory so vital to her existence now that she would expire if it was removed?

Aglarel put out his hand a second time and carefully grasped the ring, careful not to pull too hard and risk waking Aveil when he was so close to stumbling across the answers he required; he gave it a gentle but insistent tug, keen now to inspect it a little more closely, and that was when it happened.

A high-voltage charge ran over his skin as though the gem were conducting electricity; it crackled over every inch of his dark flesh, strengthening in intensity the longer he remained in contact with it. Aglarel released the gem but found that he could not pull his hand away, almost as if the gem had established a kind of gravitational pull in order to keep him rooted to its surface, and with every passing second the pain continued to sear through his body as though every single one of his nerve endings were on fire. It numbed his extremities, it whited out his vision, it made negated his sense of hearing and made his ears begin to bleed –

Just to escape it Aglarel summoned the last of his concentration and dissolved out of the Material Plane, seeking solace in the refuge that was the limitless darkness of the Plane of Shadow; thankfully the shift in dimensions was enough to sever the contact between him and the ring, and as abruptly as the pain had spread it now subsided, leaving him desensitized to all physical matter in the black expanse of void. He lay flat upon his back in these welcome surroundings, his breathing labored and his vision gradually returning, and frowned up into the clouds of perpetual darkness above him. He was certain that the truth was somewhere jumbled up in that which the doppelganger Phendrana had somehow observed, but he still felt no closer to sorting the suppositions from the facts than he had before – especially now, with that curious ring upon Aveil's finger protecting her yet condemning her at the same time.

Aglarel wondered if he should return to the suite and inspect Aveil a little further while she slumbered, but decided against it almost at once. It wouldn't do to overstay his welcome – doubtless the Archmistress wouldn't sleep for long, especially given that she was rapidly becoming something of a conversation piece for the other council members – and he had work elsewhere to do besides. Grudgingly he decided to leave the ring upon her finger for the time being and pursue his answers another way, and so rising from the flat of his back he shook the remaining static current out of his cloak and headed off into the gloom. Perhaps he couldn't make sense of these matters, but he knew someone who could.


	5. That Devil, Speculative

That Devil, Speculative

_She came to him again as he made his way through the Shadow Realm, for it was in that place that he often felt her presence the strongest. Her influence grew in strength until the hellish scene from his dream reappeared before his waking eyes, and though logic told him that he was wending his way through thickening curtains of shadow he saw only what she wanted him to see – scorched earth stretching into the distance of the barren wasteland of her home plane and the fiery clouds above. This was infuriating to him, but though he did his best to push her out of his thoughts she dug her fingernails into his brain and twisted until he had no choice but to abide her presence._

"_You would do well to heed my words," she wheedled, tossing her dark crimson hair over her shoulder in a most superior fashion that grated on his nerves. "Why do you expend so much of your precious energy resisting my intrusions? I mean only to help you."_

"_Because, harlot, I am busy," Aglarel growled, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other, keeping his physical surroundings and this too-real vision as separate as he could. "The High Prince has charged me with this task and I must see it through. Now unless you have some pressing matter to put to me, I must insist that you be gone. I tire of these pointless visits of yours."_

_She pouted in such a way that made him wish he could tear those sumptuous lips off her face, but heeded him this time and got to the point. "The ring didn't accommodate your brutish tactics, I see."_

"_It did not," he quipped, eager to be rid of her and pursue his charge._

"_You would be better served leaving it where it is."_

"_Within the Palace Most High? What good will it do there?"_

"_To the Nine Hells with your precious palace - I mean you would be better served leaving it powerless upon that witch's finger. Better yet, destroy it, or destroy her. No good can come from her continued existence. You only doom yourself and your glorified sovereign the longer you allow her to live."_

_It was the most straightforward with him she had ever been, prompting Aglarel to say, "You seem oddly well informed for a bottom-feeder. What could you possibly know of Aveil Arthien, or of High Prince Telamont's great matters?"_

_She bristled; her crimson eyes flashed harsh ruby fires at his belittling words. "Far more than you, half breed! I have seen the witch's soul, wretched as it is, and know precisely who took it, and why!"_

_Aglarel stumbled, confusing the reality and the vision in his efforts to make sense of her words, for he needed answers too badly to dismiss her claims as falsities. "Who has reduced her to this wraithlike creature she is now? Answer me!"_

"_You are not yet ready," she cackled wickedly, "and at this rate I doubt you ever will be. But I will leave you with this warning, for you are my son and I would preserve you even in this base shadow form you have claimed for your own – if you continue upon the path you now find yourself on, you risk dooming not only yourself but the last of your pathetic race as well!"_

* * *

"…Prince Aglarel? Are you alright?"

The sound of a familiar voice was enough to dispel the last image of those forbidding jagged black mountaintops from his waking eyes, and blinking furiously Aglarel ascertained just where he had shadow walked to. He found himself in a small ovular chamber whose floor was enshrouded in a curious silver mist and whose ceiling was lost in the natural darkness of the room; there were strange magical runes in languages he couldn't decipher cast upon the walls, radiating powerful foreign enchantments and shining with mystical phosphorescence. There was a single tall shelf of books whose spines boasted ominous titles such as _The Exalted and The Condemned, Forbidden Arcana, _and _Communing with the Undead_; in a place of honor at the head of the room was an enchanting table lit with candles whose flames were acid green, and the surface of the table was strewn with dried bones that didn't look even remotely human. At his feet and covering most of the floor was an expertly designed summoning circle for use in select necromantic rituals; Aglarel blinked again as recognition dawned, and there, standing beside the bookshelf and leafing through one enormous dusty volume, was Seventh Prince Dethud. His younger brother wore an expression that was both quizzical and a little concerned, but it softened when Aglarel's eyes refocused.

"Yes," growled Aglarel, a little irritated that he had been caught in such a state of unawares. "Yes, I'm fine."

Dethud snapped the book shut smartly and replaced it upon the shelf, his pewter eyes clearly reflecting his doubt and the last traces of his curiosity. "You materialized there a moment ago, but you were unresponsive when you did so. That was the third time I called your name. What ails you?"

"Nothing," snapped Aglarel stubbornly. "I simply have a great deal on my mind and I find that the task I have been charged with is not as simple as I thought it might be."

"It seems that few things connected to Archmistress Arthien could be classified as simple these days," sighed Dethud tragically, and he gestured around at the chamber in which they stood as he added, "I presume you have sought me out because you feel there is something I might aid you with? Tell me what it is, so that I might ease some of your burden."

Aglarel took a step toward the bookshelf, his eyes raking the bones that littered the enchanting table. He knew little of what his necromancer brother did in this room, but just being in it made him more than a little uneasy. "Am I not interrupting you?" he asked, half hoping that the answer was yes and he could excuse himself – anything to be out of the strange room with its too-cold temperature and its piles of disfigured bones.

"You are," Dethud corrected with a wry smile, "but the High Prince's business takes precedence. It can wait. What is it you need me for?"

The Fourth Prince shrugged off the last of his residual uncertainty and completed his approach, joining Dethud at the bookcase; Dethud seemed to sense that his work was making his older brother somewhat apprehensive, and so did not move toward the enchanting table. Aglarel's face hardened as he recalled the reason he had come. "I need to know if there are objects that exist in this world that have the power to restore a mortal to life without binding the soul back to the body."

"Hmm." A crease formed between Dethud's eyes as presumably he wondered at the implications of Aglarel's words, but he was discreet enough to respect Aglarel's privacy and didn't ask any questions that may have compromised the secrecy of the High Prince's wishes. Instead he turned to the bookshelf near which they stood and traced the spines of several books upon the shelf just above their eye level, the tip of his finger gently brushing a fine layer of dust off a few of the volumes as he searched for the correct tome, and eventually he selected a book entitled _Secrets of the Arch-Lich_ and flipped to the contents page.

"The Arch-Lich?" wondered Aglarel aloud, skepticism coloring his tone. "Vecna?"

Dethud nodded but did not lift his eyes from the page. "My practice does not limit me to the teachings of one deity, brother. Often I must study the teachings of religions that Shar frowns upon in order to better serve her – for example, Shar's worship prohibits the use of forbidden arcana to raise the dead in a form other than the one the mortal in question inhabited before, but The Chained God encourages his priests to alter the state of the target body, if at all possible." The necromancer idly flipped through several dozen pages, his keen pewter eyes skimming the words – the text was written mostly in the Infernal language, which Aglarel was only partly fluent in. "How much do you know of Vecna?"

Truthfully Aglarel had always placed little stock in religion – he was a man whose beliefs were rooted firmly in what he could see and touch, not in the things that required faith and lacked any concrete evidence that they existed at all. He was a devout worshipper of Shar only because the High Prince commanded it of all of his followers – the Night Mother had ultimately delivered them from their extended sojourn into the Plane of Shadow, and deserved their praise for as long as the descendants of the Netherese Imperium drew breath. Outside of the Dark Lady's gospel Aglarel knew nothing of strange foreign religions, and for the life of him had never seen the appeal in furthering one's knowledge in such a subject. "I know of Vecna's supposed overthrow at the hands of Kas. Apart from that I know nothing."

The necromancer nodded, for he had expected such a response; Dethud said little but he observed much, and of the Twelve Princes of Shade he knew Aglarel perhaps better than any of them. "You aren't wrong. Vecna goes by many names – Arch-Lich, The Chained God, and The Maimed God are a few of them. You see, he was born a human who attained lichdom through much study and diligence of the Arts, and eventually ascended to the pantheon, where he now resides as a lesser god. What most people are unaware of is how a mere human could rise so far above his intended lot in life – the answer lies in his near-destruction at the hands of Kas, his once-faithful servant and confidante. Kas was a vampire who served Vecna for many years and eventually overthrew him with an enchanted blade that, legend has it, Vecna crafted with his own hands as a gift for his prized lieutenant. It is said that only his left hand and left eye were not destroyed by the sword, but still Vecna lived on. His worshippers, after much prayer and attentiveness to their leader's deplorable state, were eventually able to raise him with their pleas; then thought to be nigh-indestructible, the cult of Vecna believed that their leader had transcended mortality, and even succeeded in a plot to grant him godlike power."

"Get to the point," Aglarel growled, for he was hardly in the mood for a history lesson and had little time or patience for lectures.

"At once," Dethud complied amicably. "I tell you this for one reason – for all that we know of the world, it stands to reason that it should be impossible for any creature to survive when only their hand and their eye remain intact. Without the necessary vital organs to sustain us, we all pass into oblivion eventually, do we not? But it is assumed that Vecna himself experimented with the necromantic arts so diligently during his rise to lichdom that he was able to create several artifacts of unspeakable power, relics that, if used correctly, enable even a lesser mortal creature to survive in conditions that would normally render their bodies unfit for life." As he finished Dethud handed the enormous dusty tome over to the impatient assassin, who found himself gazing down at sketches of amulets and other enchanted trinkets he had never laid eyes upon before. "These are just a handful of examples of such power – artifacts said to be invented by Vecna himself before he became a god."

Aglarel frowned down at the images, further perturbed by the footnotes beside each sketch that were handwritten in yet another language he was not well versed in. "These would allow a person to survive in their own body without their soul?"

Dethud nodded yet again. "Yes. What you seek is uncommon, but it does exist."

The assassin shut the book and handed it back to his brother, who returned it to its place on the shelf at once. "You said that Vecna created these artifacts himself, when he was experimenting with the process of becoming a lich. So the ability to manufacture such relics is not a privilege that only the gods entertain."

"Oh no," said Dethud authoritatively. "Anyone with the proper understanding of the body's composition, coupled with an above average understanding of the art of necromancy, would at least possess the tools necessary for crafting such items. The process of doing so is very involved and quite dangerous at times, so more often than not history is littered with the tales of budding necromancers who had attempted such a thing and been destroyed by their own experiments, but items of such power have been crafted by lowly mortals in the past."

Aglarel turned his back on his brother, his mind working furiously through the multitude of possibilities. All that Dethud had told him supported Phendrana's theory that Aveil had made some sort of arrangement with Lim Tal'eyve during her brief visit to the Land of the Dead, and now he knew it was perfectly feasible that the ring Aveil now wore might have been crafted by the lichdrow. He trusted to Dethud's judgment and felt very strongly that he was onto something, but he still hesitated to present his findings to the High Prince. Without substantial proof, it was likely he would invoke his sovereign's displeasure. He needed to know more – it seemed that the lichdrow had restored Aveil to life at the cost of her soul, but he hadn't the faintest idea why.

"Does it stand to reason that Lim Tal'eyve could be as knowledgeable as Vecna in these matters?" he inquired, hoping that his tone of voice seemed merely speculative.

Dethud paused, but answered at length. "I suppose he might. All that we know of Lim Tal'eyve suggests that he is far more than the average drow – he has Lolth's favor, as has been evidenced on countless occasions, despite his near-constant transgressions. He has served the Jaezred Chaulssin as the Anointed Blade, he has killed Mielikki's champion Drako Falconis, he has been granted lichdom and has used this power to conquer the Heartlands… If his goddess willed it, it's likely he made it so."

The trouble was, Aglarel wasn't at all certain that this chain of events connecting Aveil to Lim had anything at all to do with the Spider Queen. As he understood it Lolth had named Aveil Arthien one of her enemies, and generally when a deity expressed such hatred for a mortal that deity's professed followers made it their sworn duty to eradicate their goddess's adversaries. If Lolth had ordered the Archmistress's death and Lim had complied, why then would he go back on his promises to the Spider Queen and return to Aveil her mortality? Was that not counter to Lolth's will?

"Is it possible that the drow works to achieve his own ends," Aglarel wondered aloud, "and that those ends run counter to Lolth's ambitions?"

These suppositions caught the Seventh Prince off guard. "…Brother…?"

Aglarel turned back to face the necromancer, his arms crossed over his chest and his expression as surly as ever. "I have been assuming all this time that all Lim Tal'eyve does, he does to further the Spider Queen's influence and to gain her favor. Yet this newest development has been particularly vexing to me, for this reason: if Lolth desired the Archmistress's death, why would Lim Tal'eyve have a hand in her resurrection? What does the lichdrow stand to gain, that he would risk the divine wrath of his goddess to obtain?"

"I cannot say," Dethud answered perplexedly, "but if your suppositions are near the mark, he must desire something very grand indeed." Normally the necromancer wasn't one to pry, but curiosity claimed him then and he added, "What has given you this notion that Lim Tal'eyve is the one responsible for restoring Aveil to life in her current state? Has she said as much?"

"No – she says little, and from what I have seen she takes great care now in what she says and how she conducts herself." There was a noticeable ease in tension as Aglarel allowed himself to think out loud, for he had gathered so many diverse theories at this point that now verbal speculation would be his greatest ally until he decided the next logical step to take in his investigation. Nor was he terribly concerned in sharing his musings with Dethud, who was, in all things, the picture of discretion and humility. "Her current behavior is not in keeping with her personality – it has long served Aveil to place herself in everyone's way, for her powers of deception and manipulation are among her most treasured talents and she has spent many years of her life honing them sharper than a knife edge. In most things she enjoys being at the center of everyone's attentions, for with her commanding presence she can all but ensure that events will play out in her favor. Her sudden desire to conduct her business privately, and to avoid drawing any undue attention to herself, speaks volumes into her real intentions – she has something to hide, and thus far she has succeeded in safeguarding it from me."

"Then if she has not mentioned the lichdrow as having a hand in her resurrection," Dethud continued, sensing Aglarel's need for conversation, "then how did such an idea come to occupy your thoughts?"

Aglarel's eyes narrowed as he considered the events he had overheard earlier, and raising a hand he stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Hadrhune is now closer to the Archmistress than any who now reside within Thultanthar – I have been monitoring his movements very closely, as per the High Prince's instructions. Earlier today he chose to confide in Brennus, though for what reason I have yet to determine – it was the doppelganger that now accompanies our brother who first voiced the idea. While Aveil slept he intruded upon her dreams, or so he has led Brennus and Hadrhune to believe, and glimpsed these events for himself; he was most insistent that he witnessed Aveil striking a deal with the lichdrow, one that more than likely led her back to the Material Plane, but soulless."

Now it was Dethud who was looking contemplative; Aglarel lifted one eyebrow in a kind of wordless question, and the necromancer hastened to oblige him. "Firstly, were I you I would not question the doppelganger's so-called visions. The Most High has the utmost confidence in Phendrana, so much so that plans are already underway to make him a part of the most prestigious sect of our society, and for him to even consider offering the doppelganger such accolades he would have long since been assured of Phendrana's usefulness to him. You know as well as I do that the most coveted pieces in the High Prince's collection are not objects, but people of unique talents – Hadrhune was his first trophy, Soleil his second, and now it seems he has a mind to claim Phendrana as his third. That being said, if Phendrana witnessed such a thing, it is highly likely that whatever he has seen is something that truly did occur."

"I would be more inclined to trust in his visions were they based upon a person's waking thoughts," Aglarel argued stubbornly, "but these are dreams that we speak of, and dreams are not fact."

"And I agree with you," said Dethud indulgently, "but consider also that the Archmistress's plight is likely plaguing her thoughts, both conscious and subconscious – her sojourn beyond the veil has given her much to consider, I am sure, and I would be surprised to learn that she could escape such a thing even in her dreams." He waited for Aglarel to struggle with digesting that information, and only when he noticed a kind of begrudging acceptance appear within the assassin's expression did he continue. "Secondly, if these speculations prove true and Aveil really did enter into some manner of agreement with the lichdrow Tal'eyve, there is only one reason why he would restore her to life in the absence of her soul – because he is using it as leverage against her."

Aglarel nodded along slowly, for the possibility had occurred to him fleetingly once or twice that day. He hadn't given much credence to the idea thus far, for he had been secretly hoping that Dethud could prove the doppelganger's visions to be falsities – now that it seemed there was truth to what Brennus's pet had seen, it was more likely than ever that Aveil Arthien's primary motivation now was to accomplish whatever the lichdrow had charged her with, for no better reason than to reclaim her own soul. "What could he possibly require that is so important, that the Archmistress would stake her own soul on it?"

"For all our sakes," Dethud finished gravely, "let us hope it is something easily acquired, and that she is not risking something that is not hers to gamble."

"I would not be surprised to find that Aveil is overreaching herself yet again," growled Aglarel, turning for the door, "as she is so accustomed to doing." He pushed the door open and regarded the Seventh Prince over his shoulder, his expression hard with an undercurrent of gratitude just visible beneath it. "Thank you for your counsel, brother. Whether you meant to or not, you have shed a great deal of light upon these matters for me. I trust that you will take great care not to indulge any other interested parties with what I have shared with you."

Dethud offered his older brother a bow. "You have nothing to fear."

"I thought not," said Aglarel curtly, and he exited without another word, the hem of his assassin's cloak swishing around the corner as he went. In the sparsely-lit hallways of the Shadow Mages College Aglarel allowed his mind to wander, striving always to keep his thoughts active for fear that the winged she-devil would find cause to intrude upon him again if he was idle.

So Aveil had some sort of accord with Lim Tal'eyve – he should have guessed as much from the start, but for some reason had decided to trust in the last remaining remnant of the Archmistress's integrity. There was little reason for him to continue to explore other avenues, for between the doppelganger's curious visions and the Seventh Prince's ever-insightful testimony Aglarel felt he had scraped together all the proof he required – still, he hesitated to present the High Prince with his findings. What he really desired now was to hear the truth of it in Aveil's own words, and he vowed to himself then that he would procure her confession within the next twenty four hours or start tearing out the wizard's fingernails. The real question now – and the entire crux of the matter, Aglarel was beginning to believe – was what was the lichdrow so desperate to attain, that he would enlist the aid of the woman who was arguably his most hated nemesis? Was it something that Aveil could grant him on her own, or was she even now plotting to betray the Twelve Princes of Shade just to reclaim her own soul?

The thought was infuriating to Fourth Prince Aglarel, who for the life of him could not begin to fathom why anyone would take something as precious as the High Prince's bounty for granted. Telamont had taken the Archmistress in despite the fact that she was, by all accounts, an enemy of Thultanthar, and had generously provided for her at great personal cost. Aglarel swore to himself then that if he caught Aveil Arthien working counter to the High Prince's will he would see to it that her damnable soul was never returned to her, and that she was doomed to live out the rest of her days as the wretched half-creature she was now.

He felt that he was making great strides toward completing his mandate, but he was still furious that Aveil had thus far eluded him with the truth; the thought that he was being outwitted by a mere mortal had him seething when suddenly he turned yet another corner and spied Hadrhune conversing quietly with a pair of his younger shadow sorcerers in training. Though they were at opposite ends of the hallway the seneschal still glanced up and noticed him lingering there right away, and after exchanging a few more curt words with his students he dismissed them with a negligent wave of his hand.

Aglarel faced the shadow sorcerer with his characteristic monotonous expression in place and his body relaxed but prepared to strike if such a thing became necessary, but on the inside he was veritably trembling with excitement and anticipation. He had been so absorbed with divining the particulars of Aveil's plight that he had all but ignored the second part of the High Prince's mandate – to ensure that Hadrhune was utterly humiliated for his disregard of the Most High's word. Now they were alone, and it was clear by the infuriated glint in the seneschal's amber eyes that he was spoiling for this confrontation – Aglarel thought perhaps he could oblige the shadow sorcerer for a few minutes before returning to his primary objective, for no better reason than because it would highly amuse him to do so.

"A word," Hadrhune snarled, his tone of voice saturated with hostility.

"Oh, I think we ought to have several," Aglarel corrected bemusedly as he closed the distance between them. "There is much that I would learn from you, and even more that I would bring to your attention on the High Prince's behalf."

"In a moment." Up close, it was easy to see that Hadrhune was a little worse for wear; his usually sharp eyes were dull with exhaustion and his shoulders were hunched with the many cares he carried. Even with his infirmities, though, Aglarel could tell that the seneschal would still make a worthy foe in the event that they were destined to come to blows, but he knew well enough that desperation did that to a man and that such emotions couldn't be trusted to sustain him in battle for long. "It is my understanding that you have been providing the Archmistress with counsel."

"I have done so on one occasion, yes." Aglarel kept his response truthful yet vague. Hadrhune had been the one to initiate this conversation – let him determine its course.

Hadrhune clenched his jaw and pinched the bridge of his nose with the thumb and index finger of his left hand, both clear indicators of his barely-suppressed anger. "I would like to address one or two issues you have shared with her that are blatant lies."

"Very well," said Aglarel genially, for he was already thoroughly enjoying himself. "Name them."

"I have it on good authority that you told the Archmistress that the High Prince himself placed me in her way, for no better reason than to manipulate her." Hadrhune's voice was like steel; at his side, his fists were shaking. "Is it true?"

Aglarel set his hands upon his hips and barked out a harsh, cold laugh. "Of course it's true, you fool. She is so enraptured by you that the only way I could shake her allegiance was to convince her that everything you have ever said or done was all the Most High's bidding. I was merely conducting the High Prince's duties – something it seems you have forgotten of late."

"You dare to presume that _I _have lost my way?!" snapped Hadrhune, seizing the collar of the Fourth Prince's assassin's cloak and pushing him out of the hallway, right into a mostly dark corridor that ended in a dead end. "I am the High Prince's chosen emissary, whom he exalted above all others on account of the countless selfless deeds of loyalty I have completed on his behalf! None are closer to the Most High than I am – not even you!"

Aglarel snorted, glaring down the bridge of his nose at the impertinent shade. "Let me make myself inescapably clear – if you do not release me this very instant, I will personally see to it that things go very badly for you in the future. And when I say very badly, I mean worse than I had already intended."

"I have the High Prince's favor!" barked the shadow sorcerer, and by now he seemed quite demented in his rage. "There is nothing you could say to him that would compromise my position at his side!"

Fourth Prince Aglarel had been rather hoping their conversation would take this particular turn – he had done all that he could to lead them to this point, after all. He made sure that Hadrhune was looking him directly in the eye, waited until he was absolutely certain the seneschal could see nothing but him, before he delivered his fatal message. "Then you would not be opposed if I informed the High Prince of your recent tryst with the Archmistress? You do not think he would have anything to say on the subject?"

The effect of the prince's words was instantaneous and devastating – Hadrhune jolted as though he had been struck by a bolt of lightning, and then immediately he recoiled, hastily releasing Aglarel as he did so, and for his part Aglarel meticulously smoothed the front of his cloak but otherwise pretended that nothing was amiss. Hadrhune's eyes were on fire within his shadow-swathed face, but it seemed to the assassin that perhaps the shadows that enveloped the shadow sorcerer had thinned a little in response to such a horrifying revelation. He labored to restore his breathing to normal, but it was all for naught – Aglarel already knew the truth, and nothing Hadrhune could endeavor to say would dissuade him from the course he had already determined for himself.

"You…" Hadrhune swallowed hard, his voice hoarse and gravelly. "How could you possibly…?"

"It's simple," Aglarel told him, wearing a smile of superiority that showed off his ceremonial fangs quite menacingly. "Those who have remained true to the High Prince and never deviated from the path he has chosen entertain his highest favor – and with it, the ultimate knowledge. The Most High already knows of your transgressions – did you truly believe you could hide such a secret from him? _You _of all people should know that there isn't a thing that occurs within the City of Shade that the all-powerful Lord Shadow does not know! Why would you risk the security of your position for one meaningless, insignificant little girl? Have you forgotten that there is no greater reward than the promise of the High Prince's bounty? Do you not remember that to serve Telamont Most High is to know one's ultimate glory in life?"

It seemed there was only one detail of Aglarel's speech that Hadrhune had really heard at all, which he was all too quick to address. "The High Prince _knows_?!"

"Yes – your fall from his favor will be swift and merciless, I am sure." Aglarel crossed his arms over his chest, and delivered his final blow. "There is only one thing you can do now that has any hope of making your punishment any less severe."

"What is it?!" begged Hadrhune, stumbling one step forward in his desperation, and Aglarel had to admit privately that the sight of the seneschal reduced to such a state gave him a great deal of sadistic pleasure.

"You can utterly renounce Archmistress Arthien, and never again entertain her in a private fashion," said the Fourth Prince forbiddingly. "You can accept that your lot in life is to serve the High Prince in whatever way most pleases him, and that it is your destiny to be separated from the woman you love for the rest of your pathetic days. If you are unable to do these things, by all means continue carrying on with your whore – I can personally assure you that you both will be put to death, in the most awful way the High Prince can imagine."

Hadrhune let his head fall forward into his waiting and trembling hands, his eyes now hidden from Aglarel as he came to accept the full meaning of these words and what he was meant to do. His next reply was muffled by his fingertips, but Aglarel heard him easily enough. "And… what will become of Aveil?"

Aglarel purred deep in the back of his throat, for he had been hoping this inquiry would crop up in their conversation at some point; he made a show of closing the distance between them and even dropped one hand down upon the seneschal's slouched shoulder as he whispered, "Oh, you needn't fear for your precious Aveil. I will see to it that she is provided for – you have my word."

The unspoken implications behind the Fourth Prince's words were impossible to mistake, but Hadrhune's hands were tied – if he had any hope of ever returning to Telamont's good graces, it was his duty now to turn a blind eye to anything that transpired between Aglarel and Aveil from now on. He lifted his head and regarded the smug prince with defeated, dead eyes, and nodded helplessly.

"Very good, Hadrhune," crooned Aglarel, and he dropped his hand from the shadow sorcerer's shoulder as he brushed past him, bound for the main entrance of the Shadow Mages College. Almost as an afterthought he turned back victoriously and called, "Oh, and it would be unwise of you to request an audience with the High Prince at this point, for you have completely and utterly failed him in every regard. Do not seek him out privately, if you value your life – when he feels that he can begin to entrust you with his personal matters again, I am certain he will seek you out." Aglarel snickered under his breath before finishing, "But I wouldn't hold my breath, were I you."

Then he turned the corner and left Hadrhune standing there alone, a broken man.

All glory to Most High Telamont.


	6. That Devil, Disarming

That Devil, Disarming

_She intruded upon his good mood, but he was hardly concerned or his demeanor much affected by her presence. He had assumed that her earlier tirade would subside quickly enough, for she never could resist forcing her opinion upon those who didn't much care for it. In that regard, at least, she had always been almost laughably predictable._

"_Stop this now." Her voice was almost a plea, but it had the opposite effect on him that she desired: instead of appealing to the better nature she still hoped against all logic or reason that he possessed, her words were like a shot of pure ecstasy that amplified his dark, sadistic joy. He couldn't help it – in the face of her obvious desperation, he could only find it within himself to laugh a high, cold, merciless laugh that would have frozen the blood in anyone's veins. On and on the terrifying display of mirth continued, echoing across the magma-riddled expanse of ruined terrain that marked her wretched homeland, and though she was strong in her own right she cowered away from the devil that was her own son._

"_Stop?" he finally managed to ask, in between lesser bouts of hysterical laughter. "Stop?! What behavior of mine is so disturbing to you, that you would ask me for such a thing? What about my actions gives you cause to feel so offended? I have left Hadrhune utterly destroyed – now he has no choice but to succumb to the High Prince's pleasure, or die a meaningless death alongside that harlot he thinks he has fallen in love with. I am one step closer to forcing Aveil to confess the truth of her piteous state to me. In what way have I erred? How can this possibly end in folly?!"_

_Her reply was frail and perfectly in keeping with her appearance. "Therein lies the error of your ways – the assumption that these events will conclude when you acquire the information you desire from the Archmistress. Can you not see that there are far greater forces at work here? Will you not heed me, my beloved son? Will you allow yourself to be blinded by her breathtaking beauty and her promising words, as countless others have before you?"_

_She stroked one of her lithe hands across his cheek, her crimson eyes wide, wordlessly pleading with him to see reason. He took a certain measure of joy in slapping her hand away, and even more in the hurt, scandalized expression that flitted across her face. "The witch has no hold over me," he reminded her scornfully. "I am loyal to my sovereign, and have already vowed not to fall where Hadrhune has fallen. If you mean to say that the lichdrow poses a threat to Shade, then you need not fret over him – I will deal with him if I must."_

"_I do hope your actions prove as strong and unshakeable as your words," she said quietly, dropping her hand to her side as though burned. "You will need that conviction before this is over."_

* * *

Despite the mental intrusion, Aglarel's mood had much improved by the time he returned to Villa Hara. The hole in the ground level of his private residence had been mended, the debris cleared away, and even at first glance it was obvious that the little-used guest room was good as new. He prowled the rest of the house appraisingly, ignoring his slavering housekeeping staff with every step, satisfied when he had visited every room of the abode and found that everything was indeed in order. He waved off the head chef's offer of the evening meal – he ate little and rarely rested, so the kitchen staff often had a difficult time of divining when the secretive prince was in the mood for a light repast – and retreated to his private quarters, content for the time being to retire to the balcony overlooking the newly repaired Circle and oversee events as they transpired.

Little more could be done now where Hadrhune was concerned; he had put the seneschal in his place with the revelation that the High Prince was already fully aware that he now had carnal knowledge of the Archmistress, and had all but ensured that Hadrhune would follow the High Prince's orders to the letter in the near future. Really Aglarel was still mildly surprised that the ever-obedient shadow sorcerer had made such a grievous error in judgment at the outset, for he had always been almost paranoid about his devotion to the Most High, but it simply couldn't be helped. Lesser creatures had a penchant for making mistakes, he knew – even lesser creatures that had been elevated to shadedom, for though they were closer to perfect beings than most other mortals they were still just that at their most primal level: mortals.

And mortals were fallible.

Still, he doubted he would have much to do with Hadrhune from now on – the High Prince had already grilled him for the necessary information, and would accept a formal apology from his chosen emissary when his ire had abated. In the meantime, he supposed he had one greater concern that would need to be weathered sooner or later: the fallout that would result from Hadrhune's promise to renounce the Archmistress in every way, and distance himself from her. It would be all too easy for Hadrhune to do – outwardly, at least – but being of a supremely volatile nature Aveil would handle things much differently. He stood there at the guardrail of his balcony, idly taking a small sip of Netherese heartwine from a goblet, watching the last of the reconstruction crews finish up the last of the cosmetic work on Villa Tareia where his youngest brother Brennus lived with his new pet doppelganger, wondering just what form the Archmistress's wrath would take when she grew wise to the change in Hadrhune's intentions. Would she accept that her tryst with the seneschal couldn't continue with grace and poise, traits that were rarities for her to display yet Aglarel knew she possessed? Would she storm about in a toddler's tantrum until the High Prince or one of his sons quieted her using excessive force? Would she demand to be released from their custody, and return to her life in the World Below?

He glanced down to the cobblestoned pavilion, whereupon a familiar violet-clothed figure was standing just below his doorstep and looking up at him with undeniable fury in her eyes, and Fourth Prince of Shade could only chuckle softly to himself beneath his breath as he recognized Aveil Arthien. He should have guessed from the outset that she would be so bold as to seek him out directly, for had he not been the harbinger of her misfortunes since things had begun to go ill for her?

Aglarel stepped back from the guardrail and bent at the waist, not bothering to set his half-full wine glass aside as he welcomed her. "Archmistress – welcome back to my humble abode."

She curtsied back by way of formality, but the steeliness in her expression did not subside. "Prince. I have come seeking your counsel yet again."

He raised his glass and sipped at it casually yet again, rather enjoying the sight of her standing out in the street like a common beggar – such a demeaning experience would surely do her good. "This is most irregular, I must say – I am not in the habit of entertaining anyone privately here. Has some ill befallen you?"

"I would rather not discuss it in such a public forum," Aveil snapped, her perfectly manicured eyebrows drawing closer together the angrier she got, and she gestured about the newly-reconstructed grandeur of the Circle as though she thought herself to be above such squalor. It irritated him, made him want to drag her down even further.

"Tomorrow, then," he agreed with a sigh of inconvenience, unaffected by Aveil's forbidding glare. "I have more pressing matters to attend to at the moment."

"You are lounging about your balcony drinking wine," she pointed out dryly.

Aglarel shrugged. "A testimony to the difficult nature of my day."

Aveil stood there gazing up at him with the most pronounced expression of hatred upon her otherwise comely face that he had ever seen her wear, certain that she would continue her protests, but he was pleasantly surprised a moment later when she didn't question his authority for a change. "Very well," she obliged him haughtily, and with yet another stiff curtsy she turned sharply on her heel and took the first step away from his doorstep.

Of course he couldn't allow her to walk away – she was so entertaining that a part of him wished she spent far more time in his presence, for no better reason than so he could continuously seek amusement at her expense. "Wait a moment," he called lazily out to her, leaning his full weight upon the guardrail as she looked back over her shoulder. "If it is a pressing matter, I suppose I could address it with you now – after all, I did accept the High Prince's charge to serve as your counsel whilst you are here." He gestured smartly to the wide balcony she now faced, and quirked the corner of his mouth upward into a mocking smirk as he finished, "I assume you can admit yourself?"

She huffed in frustration but agreed, as he had expected she would; turning a graceful pirouette she melted into her own shadow briefly before rematerializing upon the black marble balcony at his side, and he nodded as though somehow pleased.

"Your knowledge of the shadow is as extensive as ever, it seems," he complimented her, and he tipped his wine glass. "Will you share a drink with me, Archmistress?"

"I will," Aveil accepted stiffly, and Aglarel nodded yet again before turning his back on her and passing through the floor-to-ceiling curtains into his private quarters; to her credit, Aveil only hesitated for a moment before falling into step behind him.

The Fourth Prince's private quarters were sparsely furnished and devoid of any real personal effects; of the High Prince's sons Aglarel had always lived the most simply, preferring his greatest accolades in life to be the praises of his sovereign and not material gifts. The carpets were a shade of red so dark they could easily have been mistaken as black, as were the throw pillows and duvet that adorned the magnificent four poster bed that stood against the eastern-facing wall; the ebony table where the prince seldom took meals was set with well-polished silver dishware that looked as though it hadn't been used much recently. There was one floor-to-ceiling bookshelf that stood flush with the western wall whose shelves were filled with books the prince had never bothered to read, for the bookcase was ornamental in nature and concealed one of several secret entrances into the Assassin's Guild, whose headquarters were beneath the foundations of the City of Shade and whose location was known only to a select few. There was a chest-of-drawers next to the bookcase in which Aglarel kept his more formal attire, sets of ceremonial armor and the royal jewels that were one of the symbols of his elevated station, and aside from that there was only one other piece of furniture in the room: a many-tiered decorative cabinet whose shelves were made of glass. The eerie crimson light burning from the candles lit upon the headboard cast the contents of the shelf into a kind of macabre beauty – there were perhaps two dozen daggers in all, each upon a small shelf of honor and glinting hungrily in the light from the blood-red flames, their blades all immaculately polished and their hilts shimmering with filigree of various precious metals and gems. As Aglarel decanted the wine and poured the Archmistress a glass Aveil studied the deadly weapons with keen interest, even going so far as to reach out and trace her index finger along the blunt edge of one of the smallest specimens upon the shelf – a knife with an isosceles triangular blade, whose sharp edge glittered with a curious white powder and whose hilt was set with an aquamarine the size of a silver piece.

"A fine choice," observed the Fourth Prince at length, leaving the decanter upon the dining table and approaching with both of their glasses in hand. "That blade claimed the life of the former archdevil Malkizid."

Aveil retracted her hand as though the blade had actually cut into her skin, regarding him with wide eyes. "The Branded King? The solar who betrayed Corellon Larethian?"

"The very same," Aglarel confirmed, and he handed over her glass with his eyes fixed interestedly upon the blade in question. "Before the High Prince laid claim to Evereska, Malkizid was the instigator of the daemonfey rebellion that attempted to conquer Myth Drannor. His schemes grew too great for the elves who made the realm their home to contain, and they lost the ability to stand against him. The Most High charged me with eradicating him, for he knew that the elves would gladly allow the Netherese to occupy the city out of gratitude for ridding them of the archdevil. The battle was a difficult one, but as you can see I did not disappoint the High Prince, and I am certain you have not heard the name of Malkizid in passing for many years now."

"I haven't," Aveil admitted, her voice faintly awed, and she traced the unique contours of the blade with her eyes as she asked, "What is that laid into the sharp edge?"

"They are shards of a diamond that was taken from the high crown of Corellon Larethian himself," Aglarel explained. "The perpetual wound that Malkizid once sustained upon his brow was struck with a similar weapon with identical properties; this one I fashioned in its likeness, for it has often been said that the diamonds set into the elf lord's crown were the bitter tears he shed when he learned of Malkizid's betrayal, and that those precious stones were the only things in all of Faerun capable of destroying him." Aglarel smirked wryly and sipped at his wine, finishing, "To this day I do not know if there is any truth to this myth or not, but Malkizid is dead, so I suppose it is true enough."

"You craft weapons? Have you perhaps crafted all of these as well?" Aveil inquired interestedly, now studying the other weapons on display with increased wonder.

"A hobby of mine," Aglarel told her, and he gestured to the delicate glass shelves with his free hand. "All of these were struck by my hand, and all of them I have kept because each represents a kill of some significance that I carried out at the High Prince's order."

Aveil snickered beneath her breath and pointed at another knife in the collection, this one as long as her forearm with a blade shaped like a tongue of flame wrought of black glass whose hilt was solid gold. "This one?"

"Xerxes the Soulknife," remembered the assassin with a reminiscent chuckle.

"And this?" Her gaze was upon a kukri-style blade that shone with an eerie, sentient green glow.

"Morthos the Warlock."

Aveil whistled low, obviously impressed by his collection, and took her first sip of the sweet Netherese heartwine; Aglarel watched her closely over the rim of his own glass, wondering at her intemperance, curious as to how their conversation would progress from here. Before she had seemed on the verge of a certain rampage – now she was calmer, sated by the particulars of his morbid pastime. "I knew Morthos, though not well. Surely he deserved the death you brought to him."

"They all did," Aglarel corrected in his low, gravelly voice. "My marks all have one thing in common – they aggrieved the High Prince in some way. That is cause enough to deliver them to their final fate."

"More and more I am beginning to see that there is great wisdom to the words that you spoke to me before – that the High Prince is the only real power here, and all that matters is obtaining and safeguarding his favor." Aveil shifted subtly, the deep crimson candlelight casting the right side of her face into a flattering ruby hue and leaving the left half deep in mysterious shadows; Aglarel found himself drawn to her alluring beauty, but tempered his intrigue with common sense as he always had. She wetted her lips with the dark wine seemingly thoughtlessly, but Aglarel thought she knew full well what she was doing as she added tentatively, "I recall now why I have sought you out tonight."

"Tell me," Aglarel bade her, curious as to what may have forced her out of the palace and into the open in her current state.

Aveil's glass was empty; instead of retreating to the small ovular dining table to refill it she gingerly set it aside upon one of the glass shelves beside one of the blades from Aglarel's collection, bringing her hands up before her and clasping them together as if she was cold. The Fourth Prince had to resist the urge to move closer to her, inwardly disgruntled at these strange protective instincts stirring within him, and found himself wondering what subtle magics the Archmistress had mastered over the years that enabled her to pull such strong reactions from those closest to her. "Hadrhune has gone."

The prideful beast that slumbered within Aglarel's chest purred victoriously at these words, for he was quite proud of the way he had cowed the seneschal back at the Shadow Mages College and looked forward to his next opportunity to humiliate Hadrhune. He played concerned for Aveil's benefit, certain she would confide in him if she supposed her charms were slowly taking hold. "What do you mean, he has gone? Can you mean that he has left your company?"

Aveil's shoulders shuddered delicately at some unpleasant memory. "That is precisely what I mean. He came to me not long ago and told me that the reconstruction of Villa Cambria was complete, but that I was no longer welcome within the walls of his home. I tried to inquire into his sudden change of heart, but he explained little – he would only say that his first duty was to the Most High, and that he would not risk falling from his sovereign's favor." She hugged herself tightly, her face dejected, her eyes reflecting some deep inner turmoil. "I had nowhere else to go, and I feel so unwelcome in your city… You promised me counsel, and so I have come. Forgive me."

Aglarel sidled a few inches closer, watching her for any adverse reaction from beneath the cowl of his assassin's cloak; her eyes seemed to be glimpsing something far away, and if she noticed his close proximity she did well not to let on. "You were right to come to me," he told her, his tone as disarming as he could make it. "The High Prince has charged me with hearing your testimonies. Your words are safe here; there is no need for you to fear to speak your mind."

She cocked one dubious eyebrow. "Would you hear my words if you had not been ordered to do so?"

He hoped his face appeared introspective, giving her the impression that he was conducting a certain measure of soul searching. "I think I might have. Do not misunderstand – I know full well that you prefer Hadrhune's company, but we have known one another for many years, Archmistress. Perhaps I do not know you well enough to call you friend, but surely you know that you can approach me for something as elementary as counsel."

"It is not a little matter to me," she confessed, her words heartfelt enough to make him think twice about whether or not she was putting on an act to ensure favorable responses from him. "I truly have no friends in this place. You do me a great favor."

"Think nothing of it," Aglarel told her dismissively, lifting his wine glass to his lips again. "But what will you do now? Will you continue to pursue Hadrhune?"

Aveil scoffed, her eyes alight with cruel mirth. "Of course not. Do not think I didn't heed your words from earlier today – I can see the folly in continuing to defy the High Prince, and even if I could not, it is plain to see that no good will come from pursuing Hadrhune. He is blinded by his lust for approval and his desire for a power greater than that which he already commands, or so he has led me to believe. Personally I stand by what I said before – I believe the High Prince placed Hadrhune in my way from the very start with specific orders to waylay me. Now that he thinks he has done so, he believes he has no further use for me."

"That may be," Aglarel admitted, privately amused by her suppositions and how far off the mark they were, "but to begrudge him for it would gain you nothing. You are no fool, Archmistress – if you truly have come to see that the High Prince's favor is the guiding influence of all that happens here, you will abandon any attachments you had begun to form with Hadrhune and focus your efforts on a more fruitful pursuit. And in this city, there is no more meaningful way to spend your time than by attempting to land yourself in the High Prince's good graces."

"But how could someone like me possibly accomplish such a thing?" Aveil lamented, and she finally turned to face him with the full weight of her downtrodden expression. It was enough to compel Aglarel to drift nearer to her still, for he knew that was her intention and he wanted her to think she was beginning to formulate some hold over him. "I am but a mortal creature from the World Below, in no way fit to serve him. What's more, I am certain your sovereign has already made up his mind about me; he knows that I have made traitorous decisions in my past, and assumes that I will do so again at the first available opportunity."

This was a curious thing to say, in Aglarel's opinion; it prompted him to set aside his wine glass, still with a meager amount of the dark alcohol in it, and cross his arms as he regarded her with open skepticism. "Are these assumptions not justified?"

Aveil looked him deeply in the eye, her expression morose; the urge to take her in his arms was strong, but he was a Prince of Shade and possessed of the considerable willpower necessary to resist. When she spoke she did so haltingly, as though surprised at her own words. "Perhaps they may have been once, but not now. The last several weeks have shown me the error of such a reckless line of thinking; besides, in the face of the High Prince's generosity, I find myself ever more wanting to conform to his will and work to appease him."

"Your actions and your words contradict themselves," Aglarel broke in sourly, his eyes narrowing, and Aveil couldn't help but take a step away from him and the sudden inhospitable turn their conversation had taken. "You speak of conformation and appeasement and your words sound genuine enough, but one only has to examine your most recent behavior to know that your words are a lie. You know the truth behind your sudden miraculous recovery, yet when you are questioned you will not share it. Surely you see that the High Prince has no choice but to regard you with mistrust when he knows full well that you are not being truthful with him."

"Do you think that I am withholding this information by choice?" Aveil spat, and it was Aglarel's turn to rock back on his heels now. "Do you think that I would not divulge everything to him if I thought that was the wisest course of action available to me?"

"Then divulge it to me," Aglarel suggested impatiently, for he could feel his own irritation building.

Aveil laughed openly, the crimson candlelight still playing mysteriously across her darkly amused face. "You are no more trustworthy than Hadrhune in this instance, Prince. You would hear my testimony with promises of discretion and run to your sovereign the moment my back was turned. No, I can trust no one with this. I have been entrusted with an undertaking of no small importance, and I will see it through to the end no matter the consequences."

Aglarel snarled suddenly and closed the distance between them, seizing her by the upper arms and bearing down upon her with his ceremonial fangs bared; Aveil cowered, her piercing violet eyes wide and pleading, but the Fourth Prince's thoughts were focused solely upon his charge now and it placed him in a mental state where Aveil's beguiling tricks had no chance of influencing him in her favor. He gave her a shake that was forceful enough to make her teeth rattle, pleased when she grew visibly more unnerved, hoping she would divulge the truth if he continued to make her feel such discomfort. "Do you not see that this is folly?" he growled, his fangs barely an inch from her swiftly-paling face. "Can you really not see the futility in resisting? Whether you wish it or not I will have the truth from you, Archmistress – there is no stopping me now that the High Prince has charged me with uncovering the truth of your resurrection. You can tell me now and I can inform the Most High that you were most accommodating in these matters, or you can continue to resist and I can turn you over to the High Prince so that he may question you himself. And let me assure you – he is much less patient than I where these matters are concerned."

"You can threaten me all you like," Aveil sneered back at him, "but the tortures I might suffer at your hands are nothing compared to those I might be forced to endure if I fail to uphold my end of this bargain."

The Fourth Prince growled and tightened his grip on her, wishing he had the authority to snap the impertinent snow elf in half like a rag doll. "What bargain?!"

"I can't," she whimpered, and for the life of him Aglarel couldn't tell if her terror was staged or genuine. "There is too much at stake."

Abruptly Aglarel released her roughly, and she stumbled a few steps away from him in surprise; when next their eyes met she might have sworn that Aglarel was looking hurt, as though she had wounded his pride in some way. Instinctively she reached one hand out in his direction as if to placate him, but he wisely kept his distance. When he spoke his words were saturated with regret, though that was merely for her benefit – on the inside Aglarel was simply weighing his options, determining the best possible way to handle the Archmistress and her changeable temperament.

"What is it you're afraid of?" he asked her, his voice soft and gentle, and to Aveil he was no longer a prince of retribution but a prince of mercy. "Do you fear some outside influence, some dark power that perhaps is beyond you?"

Aveil's mouth opened and closed several times rapidly, but she could not bring herself to reply. Aglarel reached out to her but made a show of dropping his hand as though he was uncertain, or perhaps unwilling to expose himself fully to her.

"Do you not think that I could protect you?" Aglarel inquired, his tone one of melancholy, and the expression of deep intrigue Aveil wore made him certain that he was playing his part accordingly. "Do you not think that I would at least try, if I thought on any level that my cooperation would make you reconsider being truthful with the High Prince?"

Aveil smiled back at him a little sadly, it seemed; she was disappointed at something she had heard. "Is that the only reason you would ever come to protect me?"

Fourth Prince Aglarel knew that his response could either secure him the Archmistress's allegiance or prevent her from ever confiding in him again, and so he was careful to make his every movement appear as sincere as he was able. He took one step closer to her, his eyes never leaving hers, one hand slightly outstretched as though he meant to take her by the hand; Aveil shied away from him at first, certain that he meant to do her harm, but the sincerity she saw reflected in his eyes seemed far too genuine to be yet another trick of his and so she did not flee. Aglarel took another step nearer, and then another, until they were so close to one another that if Aveil could only find it within herself to lean forwards she would be in his arms. The prince's silver eyes were shining with hope and an undercurrent of what could only be fear – Aveil assumed it was fear that she would reject him after he had made himself appear so obviously vulnerable, when in reality Aglarel was only afraid that he would fail in the end to get the answers the High Prince required.

"No," he murmured, in a voice so soft that Aveil had no choice but to lean just a little closer in order to discern the words. "No… I would protect you simply because I feel you are worth protecting. I know that you must be wary to take me at my word in the wake of your falling out with Hadrhune, but can you find it in your heart to trust me?"

His words were saccharine-sweet and so desirous that Aveil couldn't help but lean forward the rest of the way, her hands coming up to brace themselves upon the Fourth Prince's chiseled chest and her head resting against his shoulder; Aglarel encircled her with his arms, holding her firmly in place so that she could not see his broad smile of wicked triumph. He was certain that he had won then, but in the next instant Aveil's words told him otherwise.

"I will trust you," she promised, "if you will help me seek out the High Prince's favor. Once I have that, and your sovereign is convinced of my loyalty and my usefulness, then I will tell you what you want to know."

Inwardly Aglarel cursed the Archmistress, even as one of his hands reached up to stroke the lustrous strands of her jet black hair; she fell limp against him, presumably exhausted from the conflicting emotions brought on by the day's events, and the prince's mind worked furiously through his options. How could he secure such a coveted thing in the short period of time afforded to him? The High Prince was generous and had already granted him ample time to complete his mission, but would he continue to be so understanding if Aglarel asked for even more time?

Then he remembered: the Doubles Combat, the sacred competition the Princes of Shade engaged in once every three lunar cycles, would be taking place the following day. In truth Aglarel cared little for the outcomes of such a barbaric challenges, for he entertained the High Prince's favor in all things and had no need to best his brothers in a simple contest of strength, but if Aveil had permission to compete there was a chance she could land herself in the High Prince's good graces by showcasing her skills in the competition. It was worth the effort, he decided, if he was to stand any chance of getting the answers he required.

"There is a way," he told her, running his fingers through her hair absentmindedly. "The Doubles Combat – are you familiar with it?"

He felt her nod against his chest. "Familiar enough. Hadrhune explained the proceedings to me. It seems the High Prince extended an invitation for me to participate."

"Then I will make you a deal." Aglarel pushed her back to arms' length and fixed her with a very serious expression, though he made certain to keep the physical contact established between them with a well-placed hand upon her shoulder – the Archmistress often expressed herself through such means, and he knew it was the best way to keep her attention. "I will see to it that we are partners in tomorrow's competition – if we can prove ourselves the victors, the High Prince will surely favor you. If he does, will you tell me what I wish to know?"

Aveil nodded in earnest. "You have my word."

Aglarel nodded, pleased with her response but still wary. If anyone had bothered to ask him he would have freely admitted that he did not think Aveil Arthien's word was worth very much, and he certainly did not feel comfortable staking the success of his entire operation on something so flimsy and meaningless. Nevertheless he accepted her words readily enough and chose not to coerce her into any sort of further arrangement – he had a little time yet to barter upon her promises, and if she didn't hold up her end of the bargain he would get his answers by force and apologize to his sovereign later. Though Telamont was adamant that Aglarel avoid torturing his marks on most occasions, he left all final decisions up to his son's good judgment – and in this case, Aglarel was prepared to make an exception for the Archmistress if she chose to be difficult.

With all of this in mind he steered her to the closed door of his private quarters, insistent but not hurriedly, for the last thing he needed now was for her to suspect that his compassionate tendencies had been staged for her benefit. Once there he straightened the slightly-ruffled strands of her dark hair with great care, taking solace in the way her eyes softened and the mournful set of her mouth seemed to vanish at his touch. "In the meantime, you are more than welcome to stay here. The damage the phaerimm wrecked on the ground level has already been repaired – I trust you remember where the guest room is?"

Aveil nodded reassuringly. "You do not need to show me the way – I remember it quite well. Forgive me, but I think I will retire. I hope you do not think me rude."

"Doubtless you are fatigued by the day's events," Aglarel replied good-naturedly. "You will need your rest if you are to have any hope of standing against the Princes of Shade and the High Prince's most trusted retainers in combat tomorrow. This competition was not designed for mortals to participate in, so you must be prepared to battle your hardest."

"Do you win often?" asked Aveil persuasively, a lilting smile upon her lips that suggested she had already formulated her own answer, and Aglarel actually winked at her.

"Let us say that I win often enough that I rarely need to worry about losing the High Prince's favor," Aglarel told her loftily with yet another flash of his ceremonial fangs, and holding the door open he bowed the Archmistress out; she curtsied deeply to him in the hallway, her face aglow with apparent gratitude, before setting off down the mostly-lightless corridor for the vacant guest room on the ground floor.

Aglarel eased the door shut behind her gratefully and leaned back against it, his mind racing through the implications of their meeting. He was certain that he had been convincing enough in their dealings together; the Archmistress had seemed intrigued by his less than sterling attempts at flirtation, and had even acted a little smug toward the end of their rendezvous – it was a sure sign that she felt confident that she had established her hold over someone else, and was planning to use him as her shield and sword against whatever outside influence that governed her movements now. It was a good thing, he supposed, moving away from the door and taking up his wine glass yet again, for it was a clear indicator of just how desperate she was - that she had chosen to take up with High Prince Telamont's personal assassin and head of security, the man who was without a doubt closest to the Most High in all matters.

The Fourth Prince of Shade refilled his glass one more time and returned to the balcony, gazing out at the splendor of the Circle with renewed appreciation. At last things were beginning to progress in his favor – one more meaningless battle, one more conversation laced with fake sympathies and fabricated promises, and he would be one step closer to completing his great task.


	7. That Devil, Forceful

That Devil, Forceful

Once many years ago Aglarel had commissioned his younger twin brothers Mattick and Vattick to concoct for him a sleeping agent of unparalleled strength. Fortunately the twin illusionists, both seasoned alchemists and no strangers to the assassin's surly demeanor, knew well enough to simply follow through with the request and keep their inquiries to themselves. The result of their labors was a potion that was completely unaffected by the user's mental stimuli – however active the user's mind happened to be upon ingesting the elixir, the drinker would still find himself being dragged into the deepest sleep he had ever known within minutes and could only be awoken by some physical, external stimuli. Aglarel had no qualms with taking some of it now, for even as he ushered the Archmistress out of his door he could feel the first mental intrusions of the winged she-devil who called herself his mother and he had no patience left for her misguided machinations. For the first time in a long time his sleep was dreamless and uninterrupted, for which he was very grateful.

He wasn't awakened the next day by Archmistress Arthien, as he had assumed he would be, but by his younger brother Seventh Prince Dethud, who was up in arms from the moment Aglarel opened his eyes.

"Oh good, you are awake." Dethud immediately set to pacing about the assassin's room, wrath in his eyes and retribution in his steps, and Aglarel marked his brother's passing with much irritation.

"Clearly," quipped the Fourth Prince, sitting up in bed with the duvet covers pooling around his waist and his silver eyes growing sharper as he shrugged off the last of his lingering fatigue. "You shouted my name until I became responsive. There are still several hours before the Doubles Combat. I pray for your sake that you have a good reason for disturbing my slumber."

Dethud spared him an apologetic glance that Aglarel all but ignored as he flung the duvet back and took his feet, and as he prowled toward the chest of drawers the necromancer found his eyes inexorably drawn to his older brother's heavily mutilated body. Though the Fourth Prince of Shade had kept his body in impeccable physical shape for hundreds of years, it was a peril of his line of work that he should always bear the reminders of battles which he had either lost or grown careless; his skin was a morbid patchwork of pale gray scars, thin gray marks from small blades, larger, more jagged wounds that had been inflicted by swords or blunt weapons far larger than those the assassin himself often wielded against his foes. It was the topic of much debate amongst his brothers, Aglarel knew, for Second Prince Rivalen had the power to heal any wound that had the potential to leave a scar behind, but the reason Aglarel had never chosen to have such marks purged from his body was really quite simple – he preferred to keep them as reminders of his carelessness, as a kind of motivation that he could always serve the High Prince better than he currently was.

As Aglarel was donning his simple padded armor, Dethud remembered the reason he had come. "I have heard that Archmistress Arthien has been given the High Prince's permission to participate in today's competition! Can you believe it? It is an outrage!"

Aglarel wrestled into his assassin's cloak and pulled the cowl down, and as he rounded back to face his brother Dethud knew right away that he had chosen a bad topic of conversation to begin Aglarel's day. "Why is it an outrage? How is it any different than allowing Hadrhune to compete? Or Soleil? Or the doppelganger Phendrana? Why do you condone their participation but not hers?"

Dethud wondered at the sudden hostility of the Fourth Prince's tone of voice, glanced surreptitiously around as though looking for something, but thankfully he had the presence of mind to lower his voice when he asked, "She's not here, is she?"

"When you say 'here'," Aglarel specified idly, equipping his vest of throwing knives and concealing the dozens of small weapons beneath the folds of his shroud, "do you mean in the immediate vicinity or somewhere in the villa?"

The necromancer's pewter eyes widened; the idea that the Seventh Prince of Shade was more than a little horrified at the prospect of the Archmistress of the Citadel of Assassins lurking somewhere nearby wrung a low, gravelly chuckle from the back of Aglarel's throat as he tucked his favored vampiric dagger away into a hidden inner fold of his cloak. Dethud ogled at his older brother as he stalked around his private quarters, picking up a few enchanted trinkets and one or two stray spell components that he was certain he would need for the competition later, and when he had secured all of his effects the necromancer pitched his voice lower and said, "Are you mad?! Why have you brought her here?! Surely the High Prince will be displeased when he hears of this!"

Aglarel chuckled bemusedly and clapped his younger brother on the shoulder once, shaking his head at Dethud's perceived unease. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt to bring you up to speed concerning my affairs – as up to speed as I can bring you, that is, without invoking the High Prince's disapproval. Shortly after I left you at the Shadow Mages College I happened upon Hadrhune, who wasted no time in confronting me… I did, after all, spin a wealth of lies that painted him in a most unfavorable light as well as besmirch the Archmistress's opinion of him a great deal."

"I cannot say that I am surprised to hear of your tactics," Dethud admitted, and then with a guilty sort of laugh he added, "but I cannot bring myself to pity the wretched man, for I am of the opinion that he had it coming."

"And you are not the only one," Aglarel assured him. "In interest of sparing you the intricate gory details I will simply say that we had words, and that I was able to convince Hadrhune of the wrongfulness of his previous course of action. He returned to his private residence and essentially left the Archmistress homeless; she came to me seeking counsel, and I provided her with lodgings. That is the extent of it."

Dethud raised one eyebrow in skepticism. "And you expect me to believe that you didn't come to know her carnally, as Hadrhune already has?"

"I expect you to believe whatever you would like to believe, and understand that this is the extent of your knowledge of my personal affairs," Aglarel reminded stiffly, and Dethud wisely ducked his head and fell silent. "There are certain advantages I entertain in keeping the Archmistress here as my guest. Her location is always known to me, and I can more closely monitor her activities – both of which are things the High Prince has charged me with. If you have some qualm with my dealings, you are free to submit a formal complaint to the Most High."

"Of course I won't do such a thing," said Dethud meekly, and he moved timidly for the balcony that overlooked the Circle without another look at the assassin beside him. "I confess I am still wary of the Archmistress's invitation to participate in this competition for many reasons, but enough of that for now. Brennus has invited me for a light brunch before the Doubles Combat begins, and I mentioned that I might bring you. Will you come?"

"I don't see why not," condescended the assassin dismissively. "Let the Archmistress prowl about, left to her own devices, for a little while… I can't have her feeling like a rat in a cage so soon." He ended with a devious wink that caused his younger brother to laugh yet again, and then they dissolved into their own shadows together and made for Twelfth Prince Brennus's personal residence, Villa Tareia.

Naturally they admitted themselves unannounced directly to the balcony that connected to the loremaster's private quarters, for they both outranked him and saw no reason why they should stoop to using the front door; the moment Aglarel stepped from the shadows of the balcony and admitted himself he thought he saw the hem of a trailing shift whip around the almost-closed door, but this occurrence was not altogether unexpected and so he chose not to badger his youngest brother about it. Brennus could not have made it plainer from the start that he intended to take the doppelganger Phendrana as his concubine, and Aglarel was certain at this point that that was precisely what he had done. Even if he hadn't glimpsed what he was certain was the doppelganger making a hasty retreat, Brennus's appearance was telling enough: his cheeks were flushed, he was slightly out of breath, and the bed sheets were rumpled in such a way that Aglarel was certain there had been two people sleeping there only recently.

Fortunately for Brennus, it seemed that Dethud wasn't nearly as astute. "Still abed at this hour?" he chided, setting his hands on his hips and chuckling softly to himself. "You're even lazier than Aglarel, it seems. Have we come at a bad time?"

This last comment Dethud said hesitantly, for Brennus was scrambling most unceremoniously to his feet and looked a mess, in Aglarel's opinion. The flush had yet to completely fade from his cheeks and his breathing was still a little fast; the loose black slacks he wore we hopelessly wrinkled, as though perhaps they had been slept in. Aglarel shuddered delicately to himself and averted his eyes, for just speculating what had happened here last night made his stomach turn over.

"Your timing couldn't be better," Brennus assured them brightly as he hastened to his closet. "I was just getting up, and the meal will be here shortly. Please, my lords, make yourselves at home."

He tugged a set of his senior arcanist's robes from a hangar and half-dashed toward the washroom; Dethud was frowning after him, surprised, Aglarel assumed, by the Twelfth Prince's complete lack of dignity this morning, and as Aglarel slumped into a seat at the dining table the necromancer called, "Have you heard that Archmistress Arthien is to compete with us this afternoon?"

"I have," Brennus called back, now out of sight, and Aglarel could hear the sound of clothes rustling in the next room over as his youngest brother hurried to make himself appear more presentable. "I spoke with the Most High last night, for I had need of several maps from the Grand Library, and he informed me of his choice then."

Dethud scoffed as though disgusted and dropped himself into the seat on Aglarel's left, even as a muted knock sounded on the door and the kitchen staff admitted themselves to lay out the brunch spread. Aglarel held his tongue for the moment while the necromancer veritably seethed beside him and began silently formulating his plan of attack for the Doubles Combat in his head while the kitchen staff laid out the food for them; normally he wouldn't have wasted his time with such a trifling matter, for the outcome of the match really was of no interest to him whatsoever, but now he found that he needed to win in order to get the Archmistress to talk. It was difficult to plan accordingly when their partners hadn't yet been decided – he knew he was taking a gamble in assuming that Aveil would be his partner at all, for three of his brothers still claimed seniority over him and that meant they would be choosing before him. The odds that Escanor, Rivalen, or Lamorak would willingly choose the Archmistress as an ally were slim to none, he thought in all confidence, but one could never be too certain for stranger things had happened before. Not to mention that there was still a significant part of him that did not trust Aveil's motives; he supposed the safest course of action would be to allow her to lead, and to observe her as much as he was able. When their enemies had eliminated themselves and the competition had thinned itself out a little, he would be better able to gauge the situation and formulate a plan of attack that would prove favorable to them both.

A second knock sounded upon the door and Brennus's pet, the doppelganger Phendrana, let himself in without any announcement; this was a true testament to the informality of the personal relationship that he had cultivated with the Twelfth Prince, Aglarel supposed, and resisted the urge to shudder again. Brennus emerged only half a minute later looking much more like his regal and composed self, and the two had barely managed to seat themselves before Dethud had taken up his ill-advised topic of conversation yet again, saying, "You cannot deny that this is most irregular."

Aglarel sighed to himself, but it was a quiet sound that he doubted the others could hear. It wasn't that he could blame any of them for being skeptical of Aveil's presence – the Dark Mother knew that he himself was hesitant to place any stock by her words - , but what irked him were the hidden implications that the Seventh Prince had left unsaid. In suggesting that Aveil was unfit to partake in the competition Dethud was insinuating that Aglarel was incapable of keeping the Archmistress cowed, and that made his blood boil with rage. Did he not have her completely under control at this point? Had he given anyone any cause to doubt his competence?

Predictably, Brennus interjected his characteristic logic into the conversation. "Perhaps, but _you_ cannot deny how completely things have changed here. Seventeen centuries ago we knew nothing of the Shadow Weave – its foreign magic may have eliminated all that remained of the Netherese Imperium had we not embraced it and adapted to its ways. The High Prince took in an elf who knew far too much to be kept alive and succeeded in molding him into one of the greatest weapons Thultanthar has ever known; hundreds of years later he did the same, and changed a little waif of a girl into not only a loyal mountebank, but the future First Princess of the City of Shade."

Aglarel blinked once in perfect surprise. Now First Prince Escanor was _marrying_ the girl? Had his oldest brother lost his senses completely? What in the name of Shar was to become of the last descendants of the once-proud Netherese Imperium? For his part Aglarel made certain to say a quick prayer for guidance to the Dark Lady Shar and hope that Second Prince Rivalen, next in line to ascend to the throne after Escanor, saw fit to marry a woman of more sophisticated import.

"Now we are on the verge of assimilating our first ever doppelganger into our society, and he will be the first of his kind to ever become a shade," Brennus continued, seemingly oblivious to Aglarel's momentary confusion. "What I mean is this: the very definition of the Tanthul Empire has changed over time, brother. Is it really so unprecedented to think that the Archmistress will inevitably become a part of our society as well?"

Dethud ogled at his youngest brother, and Aglarel couldn't say that he blamed him this time. For the High Prince to decide that Aveil Arthien should compete in a longstanding competition between the Princes of Shade and the Most High's trusted retainers was one thing, but to talk of the Archmistress being elevated to a position of prestige and authority? It was preposterous, in Aglarel's opinion.

"She is untrustworthy," Dethud pointed out. "She works to achieve her own ends, and nothing else. She cares not at all for the glory and advancement of Thultanthar."

The Fourth Prince found himself chuckling at the absurdity of it all, and found that he was secretly pleased when the sound of his soft, maniacal laughter made the doppelganger stiffen beside him. "Am I to understand that you hold the rest of the members of the High Prince's Shadow Council in the highest esteem?" he asked dubiously. "Because if you mean to say that you trust the Archmistress less than, shall we say, Hadrhune, I will have to insist that you are a liar."

He ignored the way Brennus's eyes widened at his accusation, and cared not at all when Dethud bristled in outrage at his words. Why should he care what they thought of him now? He had the High Prince's favor – he didn't need the approval of these men, lesser princes who were little more than sycophants in the Most High's esteemed court. If the High Prince disapproved of Hadrhune, then so did he, and he saw no point whatsoever in keeping those feelings to himself.

"I _do_ happen to trust in Hadrhune's integrity quite a bit more than Aveil's," Dethud spoke up in what he surely hoped was a brave voice, "and for the life of me could never imagine why anyone would ever choose to think differently."

"Then I confess that I am of the opposite opinion, for Archmistress Arthien is mortal, and I know what to do with mortals who betray the trusts of the Princes of Shade." He meant this as much for Dethud's benefit as Phendrana's, for it seemed to Aglarel that already the doppelganger had drawn much too close to Twelfth Prince Brennus and he hoped that the veiled threat would be enough to convince the doppelganger to be cautious. If Phendrana saw the warning for what it truly was, though, he did not let on.

"No one is foolish enough to betray the Princes of Shade," Dethud scoffed, as though this was a completely ridiculous notion, "for no one is foolish enough to believe that they could accomplish such a ridiculous thing without facing the severe repercussions of such a decision." He eyed Aglarel pointedly when he finished, "Especially not Aveil Arthien, who knows better than most just how merciless our retribution can be."

Aglarel found a certain measure of amusement in the necromancer's last statement, for there was a resounding truth to it: Aveil had already betrayed the High Prince's trust once in lying with Hadrhune when she knew full well that the act was forbidden to her. The repercussions would be catastrophic indeed if she proved foolish enough to attempt another insurrection of similar or greater magnitude. Nevertheless, in this instance it was Dethud who was the greater fool – to assume that no one would ever dare betray the Princes of Shade when history had already shown dozens of mortals had done so at every available opportunity represented a complete lack of foresight that led Aglarel to feel deeply disappointed with Dethud, whom he had always respected for his sound judgment.

He didn't allow his personal feelings for Dethud to have any credence in his icy retort, however. "I do hope that the rest of the High Prince's younger sons are not so naïve as you seem to be on this matter, my dear brother." Dethud might have made some sort of exclamation of protest then, but Aglarel was hardly listening; he vacated his chair after eating hardly anything, conscious that he had left Archmistress Arthien alone for far longer than could be considered wise, and supposed he should condescend to meet with her before the competition was under way. He regarded each of them with his chilling silver gaze for a few silent moments before offering his parting words, which may have come out a little more ominous than he had originally anticipated. "I suppose you will see just how wrong your idealistic claims really are soon enough. For now, though, I haven't the time to educate you further on the matter… I must prepare myself. Battle will be joining within the hour - I suggest you all prepare yourselves as well."

Then he turned on the spot and passed into the Shadow Realm, hoping very much that his brother Dethud had the good sense not to follow him. He had far too much to do to spare any more of his precious time on such petty conversations, and didn't fancy having to explain to the High Prince that Dethud was ineligible to compete in today's tournament because he had run afoul of the Fourth Prince in a particularly nasty mood. It occurred to him then that he hadn't made an evening report of the day's events to his sovereign and that he still had not been to the palace that morning, and briefly he considered bringing the Most High up to speed with the progress of his mandate, but he decided against it after a moment of consideration. Surely the High Prince would rather he kept a vigilant watch over the Archmistress, who wouldn't hesitate to meddle in affairs that were above her station if left to her own devices for too long.

* * *

The journey through the Plane of Shadow was too short for his taste – how he longed to linger in that lightless realm, far removed from the petty concerns and squabbles of his fellow princes! – and he found himself back at Villa Hara all too soon. Briefly he entertained the notion of shadow-walking right into Aveil's new private quarters within his residence, but remembered that for the sake of the intricate web of lies he had spun around her it would be prudent if he showed a little more respect for her privacy. He materialized in the hallway just outside her door, did his best to put a damper on his foul temper, and raising his hand he knocked politely. The door cracked open almost at once, leading Aglarel to believe that perhaps the mischievous little snow elf had been waiting for him for quite some time, revealing a sheet of hair as dark as midnight and one curious violet eye, and recognizing him Aveil threw the door open wider to admit him with a polite curtsy.

"Archmistress." Aglarel offered her a slight bow and an even slighter smile, though of course the ever-observant wizard would be certain not to miss it. "I trust that you are well rested."

"Rested enough," she assured him, and she stood away from the door and beckoned him inside.

Aglarel admitted himself, catching her scent upon the air as he moved past her, and upon second glance he realized that her hair was still slightly damp from bathing. Aveil closed the door behind him and fixed him with a serious expression, to which he said, "There is no need for you to be so apprehensive, Archmistress. I have only come to see that you have everything that you desire, and that you are prepared to participate in the Doubles Combat today. I will warn you – in this, the Princes of Shade are more barbaric and merciless than you have ever witnessed. My brothers take this contest of strength very seriously, for the victors entertain the High Prince's most exalted favor for the next three lunar cycles and are often chosen first for missions of great importance. It is likely that if you and I are partners and we best the others, the Most High will grant you clemency and begin to trust you."

Aveil nodded solemnly, and when she spoke she didn't seem as nervous as she had before. "I have bested some dangerous foes in my days, Prince, though that is not to say that I believe the Princes of Shade are not worthy adversaries. The fang dragon Rhadamanthus, my predecessor Archmage Knellict, Lim Tal'eyve himself… All of them fell at my hand, and all of them had the potential to claim my life."

This was not an exaggeration, Aglarel knew: he had been acquainted with former Citadel of Assassins Archmage Knellict, who had long served as Lord Timoshenko's right hand in that secretive organization, and had seen the man perform feats of magic that would have made even the Mistress of the Weave herself tremble with awe and pride. He had never known the dragon lord Rhadamanthus but knew that the wyrm had been one of the oldest and strongest of his kind, and it was worth noting that Lim Tal'eyve had met his end at the Archmistress's hand not once throughout the course of his lifetime, but twice.

"I do not doubt your strength," the Fourth Prince assured her, to which Aveil could only smile as though he had deeply flattered her with his words; in the next instant, however, her smile vanished when he said, "I only hope that you are prepared to uphold your end of the bargain we made last night."

"You doubt my word?" Aveil snapped, her tone sharp and her voice forbidding, and Aglarel flashed her a devious smile of his ceremonial fangs.

"Do not take offense, lady, for I doubt the word of all creatures, be they mortal or exalted. I often find cause to question my own brothers from time to time – a healthy practice I think, for I have long been of the opinion that the first to betray you are those you have grown to trust implicitly."

The Archmistress quieted and seemed to comply readily enough, but Aglarel couldn't say he was surprised. If anyone would understand well his logic it would be her, the woman whom everyone had betrayed. She tossed her hair haughtily over her shoulder and crossed her arms then, saying, "Very well. Have you some strategy to winning this competition outright?"

"To be frank, I have given it little thought." Aveil threw up her hands in exasperation and set to stalking about the room, and Aglarel chuckled into the back of his hand; he could always trust her to throw a tantrum akin to a small child's at the drop of a hat. "I seldom formulate any winning tactics, for it is difficult to do so beforehand – the partners are selected before we begin, and depending on who is paired with who the strategy drastically changes. I thought it best to simply concentrate on ensuring that you and I were together, and to keep out of the way until the playing field has evened out."

Aveil halted suddenly; a crease had formed in her brow, and her unusual violet eyes were flashing with displeasure. "You mean not to fight anyone?"

Aglarel sighed, and wondered briefly how in the world the Archmistress of the Citadel of Assassins had survived for so long pretending to be as dull-witted as she did most of the time. He managed to rein his impatience in, though, by reminding himself that only she could give him the answers he required to appease the High Prince. "No," he began slowly, speaking to her as one would address a small child, "I mean to keep a low profile and allow some of our competition to eliminate one another before we make our presences known. I cannot say that I am terribly concerned for any of our competition – with the proper strategy, together you and I could defeat anyone."

She veritably glowed again in response to his lackluster attempt at flattery, and Aglarel marveled at just how easy it was to keep her happy. "If that is how you believe we should approach this, then I will adhere to your wisdom. You know our competition far better than I."

"Speaking of our competition," Aglarel interjected, "we should make our way to the Hall of the Arts Martial. My brothers, as well as the rest of the members of the Shadow Council, will be gathering there and readying themselves. We would do well not to tarry here much longer – I think you have attracted enough negative attention in the last few days."

Aveil could easily have flown into a rage at his words, but he was pleased when she shot him a playful wink and added, "Then let us go and earn ourselves a worthy accolade or two, shall we?"

She must have been anxious, or perhaps even excited for the events that awaited them; as it was Aveil chose not to wait for Fourth Prince Aglarel to lead the way, but instead she stepped back into the shadows of the room that the burning candles didn't touch and melted away into a shower of shadowstuff particles. Aglarel chuckled at her bravado and followed suit, and when he had arrived in the Plane of Shadow it was to find that Aveil was already leading the way through the heavy curtains of shifting shadows as though she knew that limitless expanse like the back of her hand. Aglarel kept close behind her but did his best not to make his presence seem menacing, always leaving about five paces between them, but either the Archmistress was made of tougher stuff than he gave her credit for or she was far better than he had anticipated at masking her true emotions, for in all the time he followed her to their destination she never once looked back.

"The Hall of the Arts Martial?" she asked, her voice filled with strange inflections, for the Shadow Realm distorted everything that passed through it.

"Yes," Aglarel confirmed, and quickening his pace he moved past her, adding, "You have never set foot in the chamber the High Prince once had commissioned for our private use there – I will take you to it." He raised one hand as he overtook her and dropped it down upon her shoulder, giving it what may have seemed like a wayward but reassuring squeeze; the Archmistress pretended not to notice, but Aglarel knew her better than she realized and had a feeling that she was smiling victoriously at his back in perceived victory.

She was in for a surprise later, when she had at last divulged all that she knew and he had no further use for her.

Aglarel was punctual as always, unsurprised when they materialized in the entrance chamber to find that they were the first to arrive; Aveil moved instantly away from his side, her violet eyes wide as she took in her new surroundings. The chamber they currently occupied was not exclusively where the battle would take place but merely served as the place where the Princes of Shade congregated beforehand and chose their allies. There were half a dozen other chambers, just as spacious but far from identical, scattered about that were all interconnected by narrow, lightless passageways carved roughly from stone. There were catwalks that spanned from stalactite to stalactite and defensible positions hewn into the largest of the stalagmites that protruded from the ground, and in the central chamber there was also an observation platform suspended high above the ground where those who had been eliminated from the competition could gather to observe the rest of the events that happened there. The Princes of Shade who had been cast out often placed bets on the most likely pair left standing to win; ever-perceptive Aglarel rarely took part in these gambling tendencies, but only because he was almost never wrong about who would be the victors and had little use for riches in his elevated station.

Aveil turned back at the sound of a new arrival, nodding her head once to the twin princes Mattick and Vattick; they were more cordial to her than perhaps they had any right to be, bending at the waist and spreading their hands, but Aglarel knew full well that they were among the most accepting of the High Prince's progeny and was not surprised by their greeting. The Archmistress sidled closer to him, her eyes still darting about the chamber as though working to commit her surroundings to memory, and Aglarel found that he was mildly impressed by her diligence. "I do not suppose I am in any danger of being chosen by one of your three older brothers."

The assassin shook his head minutely. "It is very unlikely. Escanor seldom chooses anyone other than the High Prince's mountebank, for he has long been enamored of her and would rather entertain companionship than any notion of being named the victor. Rivalen and Lamorak are not as predictable, but both trust more to their claim over the divine and the arcane magics, respectably, and will choose a partner who is stronger of arm in order to better cover their weaknesses. Of my brothers I would say that Clariburnus would be most likely to choose you, since he is well acquainted with your mastery of the Weave and would gain much from taking you on as his partner, but he chooses after me and I will not allow him such an opportunity."

The Archmistress's answering smile was so bright that for a moment Aglarel couldn't help but wonder whether or not she was deceiving him or being completely genuine, but with a little shake of his head he dispelled these doubts at once. It was far too late in the game to begin wondering if even the smallest shred of humanity lingered somewhere beneath Aveil Arthien's icy exterior, and he would only be placing his own safety, not to mention the approval of his sovereign, at risk to find out. They stood apart from the others as one by one the rest of the High Prince's Shadow Council entered the Hall of the Arts Martial, until the great double doors that separated the grand battle pavilion from the rest of the Hall groaned open to admit Fifth Prince Clariburnus.

Aglarel straightened, and in response to Aveil's curious glance he muttered, "Clariburnus is responsible for much of what occurs within the Hall; as the Commander of the Army of Shade he oversees many of the training classes, and places several of his most trusted lieutenants in charge of these lessons in his stead when the competition begins. If he is here, it is time for us to commence."

Clariburnus's eyes flitted over all of them as he ensured that no one was absent, then he said, "Classes have begun and the senior commanders have been placed in charge of overseeing the lessons for the day – without any further ado, let us commence. Escanor?"

"My lady, if you would grant me the honor." The First Prince's eyes were upon Soleil Chemaut, the mountebank with the unusual yellow eyes.

"Prince, the honor is mine," she replied demurely, and Aglarel was certain he heard Aveil snort beneath her breath in disgust and amusement; the sound was enough to make the Fourth Prince himself smirk, which was a rarity in itself.

Second Prince Rivalen chose Tenth Prince Rapha as his partner, and Third Prince Lamorak paired with Eleventh Prince Melegaunt; Aglarel failed to see the logic in the latter of the two pairs, but felt certain that Rivalen and Rapha would prove most formidable indeed and placed them at the top of his priority list. True to his word he claimed Aveil as his partner when the choice fell to him, and she agreed just as readily as she had assured him she would; Clariburnus chose the doppelganger Phendrana with an enthusiasm that Aglarel couldn't say he really understood, Yder picked Dethud, the twin illusionists were practically giddy with the prospect of finding themselves together for the first time in several years, and that left Brennus with Hadrhune. Aglarel caught the seneschal glaring at him just before Escanor gave the order for them to disperse and gather themselves, but he chose to ignore it; instead he swore to himself that he would place himself in Hadrhune's path soon enough, and that when he did the shadow sorcerer would regret ever crossing him.

"Very well," Escanor was saying, just as Aglarel was finishing up his own internal monologue. "One minute. Gather yourselves."

Abruptly all around them the Princes of Shade and the High Prince's trusted retainers were melting into their own shadows, bound for more preferable locations where they might find a handful of precious seconds to scrape together some semblance of a plan; unconcerned, Aglarel simply cocked his head in the direction of the stalagmite nearest the double doors and led the way out of the center of the chamber, and upon circling it they were able to squeeze themselves into the rock formation's hollowed out center and crouch down in silence. The Fourth Prince waited a few more beats, marking the time to himself, until predictably he heard the first sounds of battle echoing throughout far off hallways.

"And now?" Aveil whispered, one eyebrow raised expectantly.

"And now," Aglarel hissed back, "we talk."

Aveil shifted uncomfortably – it was clear in her expression that she hadn't been expecting to have this conversation quite so soon, and Aglarel perceived in the way her jaw hung slightly slack that she hadn't at all prepared what she was going to say. "Talk…?"

"For the time being, we are safe here," Aglarel informed her, edging a few inches to the left so that he could keep an eye on sky. "We will remain out of sight until it becomes necessary for us to make our presences known, and then we will eliminate the opposition that remains. There isn't a force here that has a chance of repelling us – of that I am certain. So there is no need for you to keep up pretenses. Let us talk of the matters that interest me, as you promised we would."

"Not yet," the Archmistress protested. "Later."

"Not later," Aglarel told her. "Now."

Predictably, Aveil began grasping at any straw within her reach. "I promised you that when the High Prince began to show me favor that I would tell you everything that I knew. Nothing has changed here – I am still little more than an outlaw, and the Most High protests my presence here."

Aglarel leaned a little closer even as a shower of black sparks exploded high over their heads like fireworks, signaling the defeat of Seventh Prince Dethud. "Thus far the only real protest the High Prince has made is how _unwilling to comply_ you are – and I must say that I agree. You have come far and been given much for someone who absolutely refuses to cooperate with those who are superior to you; how long do you think I can continue to guarantee your safety while you display such defiance?"

"'Guarantee my safety'?" Aveil repeated indignantly, lifting her chin a fraction higher, and Aglarel chuckled beneath his breath.

"You heard me. The only reason I haven't tossed you into a jail cell is because I have convinced the High Prince that you are in possession of certain information that I require. I know that you are no fool, and that you are using the promise of your words to prolong your freedom, but I must warn you – my patience is wearing dangerously thin."

Aveil opened her mouth to deliver a sharp retort when the sky became aglow with sparks again, this time a bright orange that rained down upon the roughly-hewn stone ground, and changing her mind mid-thought she asked, "What is the significance of the sparks?"

"You presume to demand even more information when you have refused to offer anything in return?!" Aglarel roared, but he was interrupted by the sound of pounding feet upon the stones and dared to glance out of their hiding place. Tenth Prince Rapha was sprinting out of the westernmost corridor and had just set foot in the entrance chamber when a shadow solidified upon one of the catwalks connecting two stalactites and Eleventh Prince Melegaunt appeared, and from the tip of the wand he held aloft there appeared the ghostly form of a hideous golem; Rapha halted in his tracks and bared his teeth, widening his stance as he hefted his blade –

"We must go!" Aveil squeaked, her violet eyes wide with terror. "We are not safe here! If we are discovered - !"

Aglarel clapped one hand over her mouth, for he could stand the sound of her voice no longer, and shadow walked out of the entrance chamber practically dragging the snow elf sorceress in his wake; from within the Plane of Shadow he listened, searching for a little-used passageway where they might continue their conversation, and after a moment or two he set off in a new direction. Aveil struggled against him with every step he took but the Fourth Prince had little difficulty keeping her subdued, for physically she was quite frail and she fought against a man whose body was his greatest weapon. They emerged from their own shadows in a mostly-dark hall whose walls were rough stone with a weathered look, a single torch of dark gray flames the only source of illumination, in time to witness the shower of crimson sparks that confirmed Rapha's fall at Melegaunt's hand.

The assassin roughly released Aveil and shoved her against the wall, his hand still firmly clasped over her mouth, for he could hear voices not far away and had no desire to seek a more defensible position. He still had no doubt that the competition could be easily won, but if they were caught at unawares he did not much care for their chances. More to placate his partner than anything else Aglarel leaned toward her and muttered, "The sparks are a sign that someone among us has fallen in battle. The black belonged to Dethud, the orange to Yder, and the red to Rapha. They have all been eliminated."

Aveil thrashed beneath his hand until he released her, and hastened to put space between them once he had. "It isn't necessary for you to manhandle me, Prince."

"On the contrary," Aglarel countered with a growl, "I find it more and more necessary as time goes by. As a matter of fact I am beginning to wonder if it is the only way to get any answers from you."

Dark gray sparks erupted overhead then, bathing the Fourth Prince's face in a cool metallic light that made him appear suddenly ghostly, and in the explosion of magical illumination he could clearly see Aveil's throat bob as she swallowed hard. When the sparks faded she shrank back against the wall and hugged herself as though she was suddenly chill, and casting her eyes upon the ground she finally spoke. "You must understand… I have reasons for keeping these secrets so near to me. The conspiracy that now surrounds me is so involved… so complex, and so dangerous… That as yet I have shared it with no one, for I feel confident in saying that there is no one in all of Thultanthar that would aid me with what I have been charged to do."

At last, they were making headway. More sparks rained down from the heavens, but Aglarel was hardly paying attention now; rather than reveal all that he had speculated over the past several days he pretended he hadn't a clue what she was referring to, asking, "I was under the impression that your soul is the only thing you are bartering for."

Already, it seemed, he had revealed too much; Aveil's face grew paler with every passing word, and her voice was feeble when she asked, "How did you know that I was no longer in possession of my soul?"

"I compiled a list of your physical anomalies and spoke with several of my most trusted sources about your condition," Aglarel lied smoothly. "The general consensus was that you were somehow existing without your soul. Can you tell me where it is?"

"I _could_," sighed Aveil in exasperation, "but I _won't_. You have not upheld your end of the bargain yet – you can hardly expect me to honor mine in advance."

"Except that I do expect it." Aglarel was bearing down upon her menacingly now, his considerable willpower crumbling in the face of her continued stubbornness, and though she cowered away from him he did not relent. "Let me make one thing clear to you, Archmistress – I am the only friend you have in this place. You have burned all of your bridges – including the one you took such great pains to build, the one that led you to Hadrhune. Without me, you will be reduced to a prisoner – the High Prince will hold you captive within the dungeon of the Palace Most High until you are a rotted corpse and your usefulness has long since elapsed. Need I remind you that you are only here at all because you have promised me answers?"

Aveil sighed, though the effect was lost in the way she shuddered at his proximity. "You needn't remind me – you do so almost wearily often. Very well – I confess. I am without my soul. It is the reason why I have chosen to become something of a recluse in recent days, and the reason why my physical appearance seems so different. I am an animate body without substance, and I am contracted to complete a task that will restore me fully to humanity."

"And who has taken your soul?"

"Who do you think?" Aveil sneered, and she rolled her eyes. "Lim Tal'eyve has, of course. The bastard first stole my life, then insisted that I enter into this foolish bargain with him or live the rest of my days as a soulless wretch. You cannot imagine my agony, Prince! The pain…" She caved in on herself then, one hand clutching her chest as though she mourned the loss of something that ought to be there, and all at once her face appeared gaunt and lifeless. "I am conscious of the loss of it with every moment that passes. I am hungry, but food does not sustain me. I am thirsty, but no matter how much water I drink I can never quite quench the thirst. I cannot sleep, for I am plagued by the nightmares of what I have done and all I have yet to do. My heart is heavy within my chest, and unmoving like a stone… It is a dreadful life I now lead, and I am desperate to put these days behind me."

These were the most real, heartfelt words she had ever spoken, and ever-perceptive Aglarel heard the resounding truth within them – nevertheless, he wasn't about to allow her honesty to derail his interrogation now that he was at last getting to the bottom of these strange circumstances. "Well I must say," he began thoughtfully, a snicker in his words and superiority glittering in his eyes, "that this is far more than the High Prince would ever consider contending with. Now I see why you have been so secretive of late. It was wise of you to keep the lichdrow's machinations from reaching anyone's ears. Had your schemes become known… well, I daresay you would no longer be among us."

"_My_ schemes?" Aveil's voice was louder than was wise now, but Aglarel made no move to quiet her down. "Do you think I would have agreed to his outrageous proposal if I had thought, on any level, that there was any other option?"

Aglarel had to admit that her stupidity was astounding at times. "Need I remind you yet again the manner of company you keep? We are the Princes of Shade, Archmistress, and few things are above the Most High's reach or influence."

She could see the direction their conversation was turning, and it was taking its toll on her; Aveil seized his arm, her eyes pleading, her words distraught. "I was _beyond the Veil_, Prince – "

"Irrelevant," he interjected, and privately he admitted that he was highly amused at her desperation.

" – And far beyond the High Prince's influence." Aveil was glaring back at him, hardly derailed by his interruption. "Had I known the true depths of his divinity encompassed the resurrection of any mortal he deems worthy, I still would not have dared to believe he might extend such a gift to me. I have transgressed on multiple occasions. Why should he grant me such a reward?"

Aglarel studied her silently for half a minute or more, carefully considering how best to respond. Aveil's assumptions were perfectly logical, it was true – she had never entertained the High Prince's favor, though that was because she had chosen to oppose her betters at every feasible turn. There was no reason at all why she should expect the High Prince to intervene on her behalf, for even though such feats of divinity were not beyond him the Most High rarely conceded to restore a mortal to life even if they were devoted to him – and in this case, Aveil was most certainly not. "Your transgressions have undergone the necessary scrutiny, and your numerous misdemeanors have been overlooked," he finally told her, his words measured very carefully as he spoke. "The High Prince was most impressed with your efforts to end the lichdrow's existence, and pleased by the way you fought to ensure Hadrhune's safety. He would have restored you to life."

At least, he assumed.

"How could I have known?!" Aveil asked mournfully, clutching her face with both hands in a way that made her appear most demented, and Aglarel had to work not to burst into hysterics at the sight of her distress.

"You couldn't have… though I feel the need to point out that you didn't give the High Prince adequate time to assess the situation." How long had she spent beyond the veil? He hadn't given it much consideration, but it couldn't have been long… thirty minutes? An hour? "You were rather quick to accept the lichdrow's proposal, if I may be so bold as to say."

"I stand by what I said before," Aveil repeated stubbornly. "Had I thought the Most High was prepared to intervene on my behalf, I never would have thrown my lot in with Lim."

Aglarel had to admit, he was growing quite tired of her repeating the same worn phrases over and over; he dared to lean forward then, dwarfing her with his solid physique as he not-so-subtly braced one of his hands against the wall only inches from her face. Her fear of him was apparent, no matter how much she pretended otherwise, and unthinkingly she withered beneath his forbidding glare as though desperate now to put space between them. She even opened her mouth, presumably to express her discomfort, but Aglarel wasn't interested in hearing what she had to say – if the situation was as dire as she was leading him to believe then he was running out of time, and Aveil had lost the right to decide how she surrendered what she knew. "Allow me to remind you yet again, Archmistress – you play dangerous games, and the High Prince is far from amused. You are valuable to Thultanthar, that much is true, but do not make the mistake of thinking that your value outweighs just how troublesome you are swiftly becoming. The affairs in which you have chosen to meddle are far beyond you, but you have little hope of escaping them now – you have caused this dilemma, so now you must be the one to deal with it."

Perhaps it was the prospect of facing up to High Prince Telamont or Lim Tal'eyve, or maybe she simply couldn't stand to look him in the eye any longer; Aveil turned her head sharply to one side, her posture becoming more and more defensible by the moment, but Aglarel's hand shot out and caught her by the chin. Her mouth fell slightly agape and her eyes darted back in his direction, and he jerked her head back toward him with a single jerky motion.

"I do not care just how uncomfortable this discussion makes you," Aglarel admitted coldly, "just as I do not care that you find my close proximity so abhorrent. You have lost your say in these matters. The Most High has charged me with delving into the crux of this matter, and his word here is law. So you will tell me – what are you keeping secret? There is one thing yet that remains unsaid, and before this day has come to a close I will hear it."

Surely she understood that she could no longer take him for a fool? Clearly it was obvious to her now that he knew there was far more to the story than she was letting on?

Aveil struggled, her eyes brimming with tears, and it seemed to Aglarel that she was mere seconds away from cracking beneath his almost brutal line of questioning. "I can't!" she argued, though it was apparent in her voice that she had no intention of being stubborn – her fear of outside forces not present was the only thing that gave her pause now.

Aglarel wisely relaxed his grip upon her jaw, but he did not release her; when he spoke his voice was a little less demanding than before. "Why?"

"Because there is far too much at stake. You are a fool if you think I work for only my own personal gain. That has been your mistake from the start, from the first moment your patron charged you with becoming involved in my personal affairs… You believe this is about reclaiming my soul, and nothing else. And you could not be more wrong!"

The Fourth Prince laughed softly beneath his breath but did not bother correcting her – they were beyond lies at this point, after all. His fingers loosened and she jerked her chin free, but if she thought she was going to escape him so easily she was much mistaken; he leaned in even closer, their faces near to touching, and settled his now-free hand in place against the wall on the opposite side of her head. "I would take greater care how you address me in the future, Archmistress," he breathed huskily, certain that he had her utmost attention. "The only fool here is you, for thinking you can keep a secret in this place."

"If I have been so unsuccessful, then why do you need to hear the words from me? If the High Prince is so omniscient, why does he not already have the answers?"

Aglarel's fingers twitched at these words, and Aveil flinched away in terror as though she was anticipating him to strike her. It was true that his will was like steel, but he knew that if she continued to defy him in this way he would resort to physical violence soon. "This is your final opportunity to divulge all that you know of your own accord, Aveil," he warned her honestly. "I have strict instructions not to physically harm you, but I am not opposed to defying the High Prince's wishes if I believe I am acting in his best interests."

Aveil barked out a laugh – it was hoarse and raspy, as though she had inhaled smoke deeply into her lungs, but there was no mistaking it. "Defy the High Prince's wishes?" she echoed dubiously. "You wouldn't dare! What sort of fool do you take me for?"

It was the last insult that Fourth Prince Aglarel was prepared to abide.

With his vision tinted red he groped for the enchanted dagger with the life-stealing properties hidden within a fold of his cloak, and drawing the deadly weapon out of its concealment he pressed the tip with exacting pressure against the place where a mortal's carotid artery would be. Aveil's lips parted as though she meant to scream but he adjusted the pressure just so that he drew the smallest morsel of her life energy from her unwilling body, and the shock of the sensation forced the sound to die in her throat; Aglarel shuddered in a kind of morbid pleasure at the feeling of the Archmistress's energy flowing through the tip of his blade and into his own body, as always overwhelmed by the thought of strengthening himself at the expense of another. Could a soulless being be killed, he wondered? He had never had cause to investigate, but found now that he was curious to find out.

"I am not Hadrhune," he growled, struggling to root his thoughts in the present moment, for his primal side was threatening to take over. "You cannot tempt me, and you cannot appeal to my better nature. I am simply the extension of the High Prince's will. Tell me what I want to know so that I don't have to explain to the Most High why you are suddenly lacking your vocal cords."

He couldn't do that, of course, for the Most High had all but forbidden it, but she didn't need to know that, did she?

Aveil struggled to draw breath, terrified into silence at the end of his hungry weapon. "You… You must promise to protect me," she managed to stammer from between clenched teeth, and Aglarel perceived that if he continued to assault her she would faint from anxiety or dissolve into terrified tears.

He opted for a verbally gentler approach, but did not relax his stance. "I have already given you my word on this."

"Promise me." Aveil was somehow breathless. Was she horrified of him? Uncertain? Impassioned?

Aglarel did not retract his blade but he did condescend to lessen the pressure, certain he felt the trembling Archmistress relax a fraction when he did so; leaning forward he all but enveloped her with his own body, the loose folds of his cloak brushing against her arms as though it meant to embrace her, and when he had drawn near enough he braced his forehead against hers. Her breathing was soft, quick, and shallow; the light puffs of air escaping her slightly-parted lips wafted over his face, and the primal tendencies that even he had retained upon surrendering his soul for the essence of shadow stirred deep within him when he caught her delicate feminine scent.

He made certain that he returned the favor, letting his breath play across her face with every word he spoke, further enrapturing her with his soft voice and its sweet promises. "You may believe that Lim Tal'eyve is still a real threat to you, but this is not the case. He has failed the Spider Queen yet again, and when Lolth learns that you live because of his meddling she will punish him so severely that he will likely never be permitted to leave the Abyss again. What further reassurance do you require? I have already said that the Most High has charged me with this, and so you know that I will follow through no matter what that entails. The lichdrow cannot hurt you here – "

"And if you are wrong, and he can?"

" – And if I am wrong, and he tries, I will put a stop to him." He could see the cool silver light of his metallic eyes reflecting within her own, and instinctively he knew that he had worn her down at last. "This is my promise. Now will you speak?"

He waited with bated breath for her to say something, anything pertaining to his task, but she continued to gaze up at him as though perfectly mystified – was this her very last defense? He marveled at the allure of her eyes, the way he was suddenly very aware of her gentle curves brushing against his torso, and thought he could understand how she had so easily broken down Hadrhune's considerable willpower – but then, he reminded himself with conviction, he was far stronger than Telamont's shadow sorcerer, far older, far wiser. He wasn't immune to her charms, but he would be damned if he slipped up now that he was so close.

"You think that you have the power to influence Lim Tal'eyve's plans for better or ill?" Aveil said at last. "Then listen. It is he who has my soul in his keeping and it was he who restored me to life, but he keeps my soul still and will continue to do so until I complete a task for him." Aglarel quirked an eyebrow in wordless question, but Aveil no longer had the strength to oppose him and continued most willingly. "He has charged me with convincing the High Prince to restore him to life and elevate him to shadedom, and only then will he return my soul to me. I saw no logic behind this choice and naturally refused, for I see no benefit for the High Prince and thus no reason to strike such a ridiculous bargain, but he went on to promise that if the High Prince were to aid him with this great matter he would grant the Most High a gift so priceless he could never refuse."

Her words rang in his ears as though an explosion had just detonated in dangerous proximity to him; his mind reeled with the absurdity of her explanation, but for what reason would she continue to spin her lies now? No, this was the truth, pure and unadulterated, and begrudgingly Aglarel had to admit that she had been right all along – nothing he had ever speculated about her and her delicate situation could ever have prepared him for the truth.

"And what is this gift that you thought was so priceless you entered into this arrangement without consulting any of us?" he asked at last, his voice raw, and Aveil squared her shoulders.

"The gift is Lolth, Prince. It is Lim Tal'eyve's grand scheme now to use the gift of shadedom to supplant the Spider Queen from her position in the pantheon. Once he has done so he fully intends to hand Lolth over to the High Prince as an act of his goodwill… Or more accurately, he intends to deliver Lolth to Shar."

Despite his very real surprise at the complete absurdity of her claims Aglarel had no time to verbally respond, for the moment after the words had left Aveil's lips there issued a sharp intake of breath from a location dangerously near their own. The sudden gasp would have been inaudible in most circumstances but Fourth Prince Aglarel had trained himself rigorously for many centuries in order to be well attuned to his surroundings at all times, and so it did not escape his notice; he resolved then to deal with the Archmistress later, after he had dealt with the eavesdropper. He pushed off the wall and rounded in time to see the stirring of a shadow as a nameless figure whipped around the corner, and even as he took his first step into the Plane of Shadow to take up the pursuit Aveil thrust out one hand and summoned her favored staff to aid him, her face one of grim determination. Aglarel didn't waste his breath telling her that her help was neither desired nor required.

Though an entire realm now separated him from his quarry the assassin had no difficulty locating the intruder, for his only goal now was to put as much distance between himself and the Fourth Prince of Shade as was physically possible in the futile hope that perhaps he could escape now that his presence was known. Aglarel instinctively followed the sound of pounding footsteps, marveling at the way the intruder's obvious desperation triggered a sudden spike in his own adrenaline, for there were few things in life that Aglarel enjoyed more than stalking a helpless, doomed prey that clung to the notion that perhaps escape was still an option.

He stepped effortlessly out of a miniscule tear in the fabric that separated those two dimensions the moment he perceived he had overtaken his prey, and his feet had barely come into contact with solid ground before he raised his left arm and backhanded the adversary he now faced with enough force to knock him to the ground. The strange surging of joy and accomplishment that he often felt when he bested an opponent welled up within him and he smirked down at the crumpled figure at his feet, half hoping it was Hadrhune caught at unawares so that he could have the supreme pleasure of eliminating him in the most humiliating way imaginable, and found that he was surprised and even a little put out when he recognized that it was Brennus's pet doppelganger panting heavily upon the stone underfoot. His disappointment dissolved quickly enough to be replaced by an acute sense of sadistic pleasure for what was to come, knowing full well that Phendrana had come to enjoy a great many accolades and pleasantries in recent weeks and somehow thrilled beyond measure that he could be the one to remind the impertinent mindmaster of the innate brutality of the men whose company he now willingly chose to keep.

Bending low he seized the doppelganger by the back of his collar and hefted his lolling head up just enough to look him in the eye, delighted by the blatant fear he found there, and when Phendrana groped blindly at his belt for a weapon Aglarel simply lifted his foot and stomped down on his left shoulder. The bone groaned in protest against the unyielding stone beneath him and Phendrana shrieked aloud helplessly, and Aglarel couldn't help the smile that broke out across his face at the sound for it was music to his twisted soul. Their gazes met yet again as Phendrana divined to appeal to the Fourth Prince's mercy with his piteous expression, but Aglarel wasn't at all interested in being merciful for that emotion simply didn't exist within him. His eyes flitted up as Aveil rounded the corner stealthily, the Staff of Winter's Chill held aloft in both her petite hands, and only her expression could have given him any more enjoyment in that moment – the same cruel smile of impending victory that he knew he wore himself as she anticipated the doppelganger's defeat.

Privately Aglarel allowed himself to admit that perhaps he enjoyed the Archmistress's company after all.

"Should you like to do the honors?" he asked her in an uncharacteristic display of chivalry, and the vicious glint in her eye was all the reply he required. The brilliant azure stone set in the head of the scepter flared suddenly with raw arcane power as she launched a bolt of frozen lightning – arguably one of her favorite evocation spells – and Aglarel was powerless to fight the shudder of pure awe that pulsed down his spine as the bolt struck Phendrana square in the back and rendered him unconscious. When her work was complete Aveil glanced back up at him obediently as though awaiting his next order, and he found that he rather enjoyed that occasional subservient streak about her.

"We cannot linger," he barked at her, hardly sparing a glance for the senseless doppelganger at his feet as a shower of jade green sparks erupted directly over their heads. "When Phendrana does not return right away, his supporters will come looking for him. We must be far away by then."

"Yes," Aveil agreed pliantly, and they shifted discreetly into the Plane of Shadow together and set off at a brisk walking pace.

Though Aglarel moved with great purpose, for he seldom did otherwise, his thoughts were reeling at the implications of the Archmistress's earlier confession. That Lim Tal'eyve had the gall to promise the Spider Queen Lolth – a minor goddess in the primordial makeup of the Faerunian pantheon, but a divine being nonetheless – to High Prince Telamont in exchange for the gift of shadedom showed just how arrogant and self-assured of his meager talents the lichdrow truly was; that Aveil had accepted his outlandish proposal confirmed that despite her many talents and uses, she would never be more than a greedy witch with a mortal's foolishness. When the Most High learned of the Archmistress's forbidden inner workings, the repercussions would be catastrophic for her. Aglarel couldn't decide which fate was worse – being forced to exist in her soulless state for all time, constantly aware of the essential piece that was missing from her genetic makeup but powerless to restore it, or being utterly unmade by the High Prince's unrivaled power and reduced to nothingness.

Either way, Aglarel found himself hoping that her wretched soul never found any proper rest.

With that thought in mind he turned without warning and seized her by the shoulders, and though she started at the unexpected physical contact she did not seem frightened by him. He wondered at her composure but realized that she had grown to trust him in the short period of time he had been masquerading as her confidante – or was that, too, a ruse? Was there anything about her that was real and genuine, or was everything a farce, an endless façade? He supposed there was little point chastising her for her character, for deep down he knew that they were more alike than perhaps she knew – after all, not a single word he had spoken to her in these past few days was true.

"Brennus and Hadrhune are our only opponents now," he told her, for though their earlier conversation had required much of his concentration he had still subconsciously kept track of who had been eliminated, and when. "If I am to uphold my end of our bargain, I will need every ounce of your focus. There can be no mistakes against these two – they will make a formidable team, even against us. But if you are prepared, there will be ample opportunity to harness Brennus's innate compassion and Hadrhune's infatuation with you against them. Can I expect your best in this encounter?"

There was a second's hesitation in her eyes as the last shred of her impressionable mortal's heart stubbornly clung to the notion that perhaps she and Hadrhune could find their way back to one another one day. Aglarel stared deep into her eyes as she evaluated her options, curious as to whether common sense would win out over her feeble affections, and was vaguely surprised at the speed with which she reached her decision. Logic was her determining factor, he supposed – the ship that was Hadrhune's greatness and his ability to protect and serve her had long since sailed, she knew, and she could either stay aboard as it inevitably sunk or she could accept the life preserver that was Aglarel's perceived generosity and prolong her miserable existence for just a little while longer.

She wasn't foolish enough to turn a blind eye to any means of self-preservation, no matter what she had to sacrifice to obtain it.

"You can," she assured him, and with the finality of her words Aglarel bore witness as the last of her love for Hadrhune was utterly extinguished.


	8. That Devil, Delivering

That Devil, Delivering

A tumult of uproarious whispers was all the welcome that Aglarel and Aveil received the moment they chose to step out of the safety of the Shadow Realm and return to the Material Plane, and for his part Aglarel had to expend a few precious motes of his impressive self-discipline just to keep his face impassive. It had come as something of a shock to his brothers that he had chosen Aveil as his partner, Aglarel supposed, for his loathing for the inferior races that inhabited the World Below was no secret to any of them and he had long been known for his low tolerance for conspirators against the Tanthul Dynasty – Aveil was the embodiment of both these things, yet he had willingly chosen to stand beside her. The fact that a non-shade and non-supporter of the High Prince was now present in the final bout of what many of them had long considered a sacred tradition among the Princes of Shade could easily be viewed as a form of sacrilege, and it was likely grating on their nerves. But what seemed to have incited the most ire within about half of them was the brutal defeat of the doppelganger Phendrana, which only served to lift Aglarel's spirits a little. He saw no reason why a man of such low import who had yet to be integrated into their esteemed society should receive any special treatment, and he couldn't bring himself to regret the manner of the doppelganger's defeat for he was of the opinion that it should have been even more severe – he would have liked to draw out Phendrana's agony a little while longer, but there simply hadn't been time.

He took note of the way that Aveil withdrew into herself the moment she heard the unwelcoming voices, saw the obvious shift in her posture from at ease to on the defensive, and whispered tersely, "Be at peace – you have nothing to fear. The envious will always find reason to protest. Their words should have no impact on your performance."

She nodded curtly once to show that she understood and worked to hold herself a little more proudly, and Aglarel couldn't help but admire her against his better judgment. It took a rare breed of mortal to stand so steadfastly against the Empire of Shade, but Archmistress Arthien had proved her mettle many times over and seemed more than prepared to do the same yet again. He wondered if he would still have chosen her as his partner under completely different circumstances, wondered just how well they would complement one another in a real battle that had nothing to do with pre-mediation and everything to do with fighting for their lives. Perhaps he would never trust her, but there was something to be said for a mortal tenacious enough to enter into battle willingly knowing that her opponents were among the Shadow Court of Thultanthar.

Aglarel felt a minor disturbance in the Shadow Realm and cut his eyes toward the observation platform, whereupon those who had been cast out of the competition milled about waiting for the conclusion of the battle to unfold, and watched as his youngest brother shifted from the Plane of Shadow and back into the Material Plane. One of his arms was torn from a wound that seemed to have been dealt from a blade of some kind – Clariburnus's handiwork, perhaps, or even Rapha's – but Aglarel wasn't foolish enough to assume that gave him the upper hand against Brennus. The Twelfth Prince was cleverer than most and had worked hard over the years to secure his place at the Most High's side through careful diligence, incredible foresight and no small feats of courage, and had faced death dozens of times over only to overcome it, just like the rest of them. In his other hand he held a wand, which he brandished in their direction as he narrowed his luminous bronze eyes.

Aveil was quicker on the release of her spell, though, something that both surprised and pleased the Fourth Prince; she loosed a bolt of her favored frozen lightning from the Staff of Winter's Chill, and though it was on the mark Brennus managed to avoid it. As he strafed to one side in midair and the bolt passed within inches of those watching from the observation platform Brennus unleashed his spell, but Aglarel had been waiting for him to act and tucked into a graceful roll to avoid whatever it was the loremaster had in store. He caught a glimpse of a miniscule crimson bead of molten flame as it hovered overhead ominously for barely half a second, and the instinctive warning that bubbled to Aglarel's lips was drowned out by the sudden intense roar of the concussive curtain of flame that engulfed Aveil's diminutive body. The scorching heat pricked tears in Aglarel's eyes and though Brennus smirked down at him in a superior fashion the Fourth Prince saw no reason to be concerned. Aveil Arthien was made of tougher stuff than Brennus gave her credit for, and he was grossly underestimating his opponent if he truly believe for an instant that a single gout of fire was enough to gain him the upper hand.

The smirk vanished from Brennus's face as the first glimpse of a protective white sphere of subzero temperatures became visible beneath the hungrily licking flames, and for a handful of seconds that seemed to last for hours the Archmistress of the Citadel of Assassins and the Twelfth Prince of the City of Shade found themselves locked in a duel of arcane magic. Though Brennus was well versed in all schools of magic and had dabbled in the school of evocation far longer than Aveil had been alive he couldn't hope to best the innate might of the artifact that the Archmistress wielded against him, and much to Brennus's dismay he soon found every bead of flame he had conjured had been evaporated into harmless steam by the icy sphere of defensive magic Aveil had summoned against him.

Brennus flicked his wand yet again in her direction, saying, "I refuse to be defeated by a soulless wraith from the World Below," and then the Staff of Winter's Chill transformed into a venomous snake in Aveil's hands.

The spellcaster's resulting shriek told Aglarel that she had been caught at unawares, and he knew he would have to act quickly if he wanted to take advantage of Brennus's distraction. He shifted into the Plane of Shadow long enough to reach a more favorable vantage point before reappearing upon the observation deck beside his brothers; they flinched away from him as though burned, but he didn't spare them a second glance before stepping right up to the guardrail and leaping down with Brennus in his sights. The Twelfth Prince was lifting some manner of spell component as he prepared to whisper the trigger phrase of his next spell but seemed to sense that he was in danger at the last possible moment; Aglarel groped at his belt and drew one of his deadly poison-tipped throwing knives but did not loose it, knowing that Brennus could only lessen the damage if he reacted appropriately but couldn't avoid it altogether. Even as the Twelfth Prince scrambled to put distance between them Aglarel descended upon him, an imminent specter of doom, and felt the small blade tear the right side of his youngest brother's flesh open. Predictably Brennus cried out as Aglarel's unique homemade poison sped with shocking swiftness through his bloodstream, and as the pain shattered his concentration he plummeted for the ground.

Aveil hefted her staff, which she had managed to restore to its natural state, ready to receive him with another devastating evocation spell.

Hadrhune chose that precise moment to invite himself back into their presence, bringing the head of his darkstaff cracking down upon the back of Aveil's head and dropping her to the ground like a stone, and there was such remorselessness for her in the seneschal's expression that Aglarel's couldn't help feeling the slightest bit taken aback; Hadrhune sought the assassin with his haunted amber eyes and held his darkstaff aloft with purpose and retribution, and before Aglarel could even consider halting or reversing his momentum seven perfect likenesses of the shadow sorcerer sprang from the scepter and hurtled toward him like slavering wraiths. Aglarel's eyes were upon Aveil's motionless body as he drifted slowly downward, hoping against hope that she would awaken and turn the tables in their favor, but as he became engulfed by the magically conjured shadow doubles he lost all sight of her.

The first slash of cruel shadow claws spurred the assassin into action, and taking his vampiric dagger into his hand he set about his devastating work. The first stroke lacked most of his usual finesse, just a straightforward horizontal slash that would have split the stomach of a substantial creature but instead reduced the first of the shadow wraiths to a haze of black smoke; as his dominant arm turned that maneuver into a diagonal sweep his free hand seized another of the poison daggers from his belt and stabbed ahead, eliminating two more of his adversaries almost simultaneously. Urgency gripped him as he realized that Aveil was alone and defenseless somewhere below him and he moved even more quickly then, jabbing with the vampiric dagger and slashing the claws off the nearest shadow double; he threw caution to the winds with the last three of them and spun in a circle, keeping his body taut his fingers tight around the hilts of his weapons, and using his own momentum he slashed the other three to ribbons and broke out of the chaos at last.

By this time Hadrhune had managed to escort Brennus to the ground and the Twelfth Prince seemed to be on the mend from the effects of the poison, and Aglarel cursed Hadrhune for his foresight. Aveil was behind them, reeling incoherently, fighting unconsciousness for everything she was worth, but they paid her little attention as Aglarel gritted his teeth and lunged straight for them. Hadrhune lifted his left hand and held it palm-up before him as he clacked his darkstaff upon the ground, and simultaneously a cloak of pure darkness enveloped his two adversaries as Aglarel found himself being engulfed in an explosion of skin-searing sunlight.

The amount of theatricality with which Aglarel pretended to be in absolute agony was commendable – or at least, he thought so. Truth be told, the crippling effects of prolonged or sudden exposure to sunlight did not have the same effect on him as it did on his brothers, for he was the treasured and forbidden half-breed son of High Prince Telamont and entertained a great many advantages that made him superior to the Most High's other progeny. The winged she-devil that was his mother boasted an immunity to sunlight, though how she had come to inherit such a trait even Aglarel did not know; regardless it was a trait that had been passed on to him, and even after hundreds of years it was still perhaps one of the most closely guarded secrets that he claimed. For the benefit of all those in attendance he writhed and did his best to look pained before wrenching himself with excessive force out of the Material Plane and into the relative safety of the Realm of Shadow, leaving behind a mild explosion of shadow particles that the casual onlooker would assume was all that remained of his corporeal body.

In the Shadow Plane, Aglarel painstakingly dusted a few stubborn globs of lingering sunlight from his assassin's cloak and frowned down at the ground. Doubtless he had fooled all the right people with his act, but the problem was that now his accomplice had no choice but to face both their adversaries without his help. He doubted that she could stand against them in any physical manner, but he did not doubt her talent for deception. If there was a way that she could fool them with her lies, trick them into dropping their guard for even a moment, they could still win.

He dared to open the tear between dimensions just a fraction to observe her. What he witnessed made him question whether anyone who had come to Thultanthar before her deserved to entertaine the High Prince's favor even half as much as she did.

As Brennus lifted his wand to cast the spell that would grant them their victory Aveil curled into a fetal position and clutched at her own head, her fingers tangling in her hair as though she was suddenly overcome by a fit of madness; she seemed to be muttering brokenly and incoherently to herself, causing both Brennus and Hadrhune to question her sanity for a moment, and even Aglarel wondered what she was playing at until sudden inspiration struck him: she was using the ever-present threat of Lim Tal'eyve to her advantage, forcing their adversaries to pause and consider if her actions were a farce or if they were a precursor to something far more dire.

Aglarel couldn't help but snicker beneath his breath, for of course it was an act - honesty was not a concept that Aveil was particularly familiar with. In mere seconds she had everyone gathered upon the observation deck hanging breathlessly upon her every manic word, and it was long after that that Hadrhune had dropped right to the ground at her side and gathered her into his lap as though he meant to purge the madness from her body with his mere presence, and Brennus was insisting that someone summon the High Prince with all haste even though Aglarel was certain that the Most High was observing Aveil's every move more closely than they knew. So impressed was Telamont by Aveil's performance that he even condescended to materialize among them to witness her theatrics with his own eyes, and no sooner had he appeared did the truth of her deceptions become known.

She opened her eyes, smiling like a succubus, and loosed an orb of concentrated daylight right in their adversaries' faces. Even Aglarel had to flinch at the Archmistress's brutality, for at such close range sunlight had the potential to kill shades within minutes. As it was Brennus and Hadrhune looked skeletal and frail with their bodies twisting spasmodically upon the ground and their fine clothes smoldering at the edges; they gasped like beached fish as though they could hardly draw breath, and their eyes were wide and unseeing. Aveil spared a glance in his direction, for it seemed that she alone was not fooled by his disappearance, and with a knowing snicker he returned to the Material Plane and dropped down to the ground beside her to survey her handiwork.

With the tip of one of his poisoned throwing daggers Aglarel teasingly traced the curve of Brennus's jaw line, and though he had no interest in bringing further harm to one of his brothers he was not completely opposed to the idea if they were foolish enough to resist. "Will you admit that we have won?" he murmured softly into the youngest prince's ear, his nostrils filled with the heavy scent of rotting flesh, and Brennus groaned aloud in protest.

"We yield," was the loremaster's pitiable response, barely more than a wheeze. "Please, no more…"

Satisfied, Aglarel rocked back on his heels and rose sinuously back to his feet with a sidelong glance at Aveil. "You heard them. End it." No one could question now that they had won; there was little point in prolonging such obvious agony.

Aveil was agreeable for a change. "Yes, Prince." She dismissed the aftereffects of the daylight spell with a gentle rippling of her fingers, watching his face closely as if to better gauge his demeanor, but Aglarel kept his face blank and afforded her not a hint of his true emotions. In truth, he was considering how best to deal with the information he had now at his disposal. Every avenue led him to a conclusion that was in no way favorable to her, but there was little point inciting her to a panic in front of so many witnesses. Their eye contact was broken when High Prince Telamont stepped smoothly forward, parting those gathered in attendance, and he gazed down upon them almost serenely.

"You orchestrated this?" he asked of Aglarel, and though his voice was rough with reprimand his platinum eyes glinted in a way that suggested he was not as opposed as he wished for the others to believe.

Aglarel bent at the waist, flattered by the true meaning behind his sovereign's words. "I did, Most High. I thought it prudent to trust in the Archmistress' considerable… acting skills." He cut his gaze to Aveil as he finished, lifting one eyebrow in apparent amusement, and Aveil cracked the barest hint of a smile suggesting that perhaps he was just as beguiling as he had meant to be. He wanted her to think that she had won, that her foolish machinations might somehow be without reprimand. He wanted her completely disarmed, so that when her punishment came he could fully enjoy her terror.

"Well done," Telamont congratulated him idly, his tone suggesting that he had expected no less, and when he turned his full attention upon Aveil she wasn't entirely successful at withholding a little shudder of anxiety. "And you, Archmistress Arthien… Suffice it to say I will continue to watch your antics with great interest."

The others were descending from the observation platform now, and some of the more loyal among them were guiding an ailing Hadrhune and a still-twitching Brennus to their feet; Aglarel could feel their mutinous gazes boring holes into his back, but he paid them little heed. At first he had been moderately concerned that his deal with the Archmistress wouldn't pan out for one reason or another – mainly because he hadn't trusted Aveil to uphold her end of their bargain from the outset – but now that the entire ordeal was behind him and he had the answers he had been tasked with uncovering he felt as though his work had only just begun. To think that Aveil's reason for entering into any sort of partnership with Lim Tal'eyve had been based upon matters with such far-reaching consequences was unprecedented – it was far beyond the scope of anything Aglarel might ever have imagined, and he knew better than most what Aveil Arthien was capable of when it was desperation motivating her into action. Now he was tasked with the part of his job that he enjoyed perhaps most of all.

It was his responsibility to deliver a criminal to the High Prince without delay.

He turned to his sovereign and bent at the waist a second time, his words purposefully vague for Aveil's benefit; by this time, they were the only three left in the inner sanctum of the Hall of the Arts Martial. "I have already informed the Archmistress that you normally receive the winners in a private audience following the conclusion of the competition, so that you might grant them a reasonable request in exchange for their courageous efforts. Should you like to speak with us here, or would you be more comfortable in the audience hall in the palace?"

There was no discernible pause between Aglarel's inquiry and Telamont's reply, for Lord Shadow knew well enough when his treasured half-breed son had cause to bring a criminal to his feet for judgment and there was no mistaking the forbidding glint in Aglarel's eye. "I would prefer to receive you in the audience hall. Let us not forsake tradition for convenience."

"Yes, Holy Father. If you would be gracious enough to lead the way, we will follow just behind you."

Telamont nodded once and dissolved into innumerable shadow particles; Aglarel turned to Aveil, whose drawn and concerned expression now fell somewhere just short of open elation. Her face split into a contagious grin that left the Fourth Prince feeling highly amused by her naivety. "The High Prince rewards the winners? Why did you not say so before? This is very fortunate! Would he grant me my soul if I asked, that I might forsake my original bargain?"

"It slipped my mind," Aglarel explained vaguely, eager now to lure her into the palace and throw her at the High Prince's feet. "As for whether or not the Most High will grant you what you desire, I cannot say. He bases all of his decisions on factors that are far beyond my comprehension. But I will say this – he did seem very pleased with your performance today. Perhaps what you wish for is not so far beyond your reach."

Aveil's violet eyes veritably sparkled and she appeared to be overjoyed, though whether she was more excited at the prospect of recovering her lost soul or with the idea of foiling Lim Tal'eyve's plots yet again Aglarel had no way of knowing for sure. For his part he dared to hope that the High Prince wouldn't condemn her to death for her crimes, for no better reason than she had been his greatest source of amusement the past few days. She was aggravating, even infuriating at times, but there was a great deal to be said for her spontaneity, something that he was not.

"After you," he told her in a soft, carefully guarded voice, gesturing with one hand as though he were indicating a physical entrance to the Plane of Shadow hovering somewhere just between them. "You know the way."

She stole almost gleefully through the torn fabric separating the Material Plane from the Plane of Shadow, and Aglarel chuckled maniacally beneath his breath at her continued lack of foresight. In this instance she had proven gullible to a fault – it was a refreshing change, to say the least. When his moment of mirth had passed he followed her into the perpetual darkness of the Shadow Realm, all the while reminding himself that he had only to suffer one short journey to the Palace Most High and he would be rid of her meddling once and for all.

The moment his body completed the transition between dimensions something dreadfully cold and harder than stone struck the tender inside of his right knee, rendering the entire leg momentarily useless; with his weight unevenly distributed he toppled forward, suddenly unable to keep himself upright. He absorbed the fall with his other knee, but the moment he sank down into his crouch a second blow crashed against his left temple and his vision exploded with stars; he fell facedown, unable to discern direction in his incoherency, and lost his breath in the next instant when something drove cruelly into the center of his back.

"Did you really take me for such a fool?" hissed a wrathful, feminine voice from somewhere above him, and when he instinctively turned his head toward the sound he suffered another blow to the back of his head that kept his vision from clearing. "Do you think that I have learned nothing from my days spent in this place? I know full well that High Prince Telamont has named Lim Tal'eyve an enemy to the Empire of Shade – that is the reason I came to reside here at all. Did your sovereign not grant me clemency and protection in exchange for all that I knew of the lichdrow? I know what awaits me in that audience chamber, Prince – it is nothing less than the end of my life. You will relay what I have done to the Most High, and then he will put an end to me – so do not waste my time with talk of rewards and grandeur! I am as far from being exalted here as one could possibly be!"

Well, Aglarel thought, dragging a shallow breath into his aching lungs as his vision swam with inconsistent images and colors, if she knew all of that there was no point in keeping up pretenses.

The object that kept him pinned to the ground – he assumed it to be the butt of Aveil's scepter – was still jabbing him in the spine; with a swift movement he swung his right arm around, catching the shaft with his elbow and dislodging it from its place. Unfortunately for her Aveil had been leaning most of her weight upon the scepter and began to swoon forward, so pushing himself up onto one knee Aglarel twisted at the waist and landed a devastating punch to her stomach with his left hand, satisfied by the _whoosh_ of air as it was forcibly expelled from her lungs. She windmilled her arms in a futile attempt to put distance between them but it was useless – Aglarel seized the staff with one hand and ripped it from her uncertain grasp with barely an effort before using her own weapon to sweep her feet out from beneath her.

She collapsed hard upon her back but moved quickly to defend herself, tearing a thin adamantine wand from the wand belt at her waist, but with a deft little flick of her staff the Fourth Prince disarmed her yet again before tossing the scepter carelessly behind him. She batted uselessly at him with her frail arms as he descended upon her but he was unfazed by her meager show of strength; he backhanded her once to ensure that she was too senseless to continue her struggles and then out flashed his vampiric dagger, catching her beneath the chin with exacting pressure as it began to draw the energy from her body with agonizing slowness. By this time Aglarel's vision had cleared and he discovered that the frozen, unyielding thing she had used to attack him was actually her right hand, which she had trans-mutated into a solid block of ice – he took great pleasure in sapping her life energy until she was simply too weak to maintain the spell, and the effects of it failed.

One of Aveil's groping hands seized Aglarel's throat and squeezed, but her grip was laughable and he smiled down at her mockingly with his ceremonial fangs exposed. He relished her energy as it revitalized his body, and as she struggled for breath and fought to keep conscious he stretched the last of the fatigue out of his muscles. "Ah, I thought you were being a little too compliant, Archmistress – it's good to know where you stand on these matters, and even better to see that you are not as foolish as I thought. Though I must ask – what were you hoping to accomplish in attacking me? Surely you didn't think that you could win?" Her eyes were heavy with exhaustion and her skin had taken on an unhealthy gray tinge, but she retained the strength to scoff up at him so he chose not to relent. "Even in the highly unlikely event that you had won, what would have been your next move? Demand that the High Prince return to you your soul, in exchange for my safety? You would gain nothing. Not only would he refuse to acquiesce to your request, he would end your wretched life with hardly a thought. You have no power here."

Aveil's breathing had grown dangerously slow, and her eyes were unfocused; Aglarel perceived that if he stole any more of her life energy she would either lose consciousness or slip into a comatose state soon, and so he slid his enchanted dagger back into the hidden inner fold of his assassin's cloak. Her eyelids fluttered uncertainly so he seized her by the shoulders and shook her none-too-gently until she was glaring up at him again, and then with a devious smile he rose and flung her over his shoulder as though she weighed mere ounces. Aveil uttered a soft groan of protest, but she hadn't the strength to fight back and lay otherwise limp against him.

"Let us not keep the High Prince waiting any longer," Aglarel told her idly, setting off through the thick curtains of perpetual darkness that characterized the Plane of Shadow. "It really is most unfortunate that you chose to act as you did… Before you stood a chance of escaping with your life, and now you will surely die."

* * *

He kept up an almost leisurely pace as he made his way to their destination, purposely prolonging the journey so that Aveil had no choice but to anticipate the fate that was swiftly drawing nearer. Though he knew in the swift rise and fall of her chest as she drew labored, panicked breaths that she was terrified by now she chose not to protest any further; whether she had resigned herself to her fate or hadn't the strength to continue fighting him, however, he couldn't say. At last they had reached the extraplanar boundary that marked the High Prince's audience hall, and Aglarel stepped through the tear in dimensional fabric to admit himself.

High Prince Telamont was seated upon his bejeweled onyx throne, his chin propped upon one hand and his platinum eyes severe as he marked their approach; Aglarel opted for a direct approach, slinging the lolling form of Archmistress Arthien over his shoulder and depositing her none-too-gently at the foot of the short staircase leading up to the place of honor where the Most High sat. Aveil groaned when she collapsed upon the polished black marble but was wise enough to keep her eyes averted – it was common knowledge in all of Thultanthar that no one but the Princes of Shade and the Most High's trusted advisors looked the High Prince in the eye without his permission if they wanted to live much longer. Telamont glared down at her appraisingly as if waiting for temptation to break her, but after a time his eyes flitted to where Aglarel stood like the grim reaper preparing to claim his next soul.

"It seems you have been mistreating our guest," Telamont pointed out in a neutral tone, though Aglarel could see his lips curling upward in amusement through the thick shadows that engulfed his face. "As I recall, I gave you strict instructions that she was not to be harmed. I assume you have a good reason for ignoring my orders?"

As with all the High Prince's reprimands of him, Aglarel understood that this one was simple protocol – the words were only for Aveil's benefit. Aglarel didn't bother himself with feeling concerned, and instead focused on breathing deeply until the familiar red tint rimming his vision had subsided and he felt he could trust himself to speak evenly. "I do, Holy Father."

Telamont leaned forward, intrigued, pressing the tips of his fingers together and surveying his son over them. "Explain."

Aglarel cast his eyes downward so that he was looking Aveil in the eye; her expression was pleading, wordlessly begging him to show her mercy, but he found that he was all out of sympathy for one day. He kept his eyes upon her with every word that he spoke, enjoying the sight of the hope slowly fading out of her eyes until only despair remained. "The Archmistress's soul was stolen from her by Lim Tal'eyve, shortly after her life ended during the phaerimm ambush and she was sent to Manifest to await her fate. While she was there the lichdrow put to her an interesting proposition, one that I am dismayed to tell you she accepted after what I can only assume was a very short period of consideration. Lim Tal'eyve offered to return her soul to her after she completed a task for him; I have only just learned the nature of this task, and it is appalling."

Telamont's eyes were upon Aveil now also, who didn't dare to look up but cowered under the weight of his forbidding stare. "Tell me."

"She has agreed to partner the lichdrow in achieving the gift of the shadow," Aglarel revealed, and even speaking the words made him shudder. This crime was unforgivable. He was certain he would be seeing the full, unadulterated wrath of the High Prince in short order, and wondered vaguely if the Archmistress would even be recognizable when it was all over. "In exchange for her aid in this heinous conspiracy he has promised to return her soul, but he also assured her that he would use his newfound powers to bring down the Spider Queen and deliver the goddess to you as a gift of goodwill and thanks. It is my understanding that he intends to supplant Lolth for his own personal gain, however – he believes that his transformation will enable him to ascend to the pantheon in her place."

Aglarel was almost ashamed to admit all of this to his sovereign – after all, the words sounded entirely ludicrous as he spoke them, and could only imagine how laughable the Most High would find such audacious suppositions. The twinge of embarrassment passed quickly, though – it was his duty to report any crime punishable by death without delay, and the act of conspiring against the crown certainly fell into that category. Nevermind that Lim Tal'eyve fully intended to compensate the High Prince for his generosity – it was absurd that the lichdrow had ever considered that Telamont would agree to take part in such a fool's errand. The idea that a mortal could contend for powers that only the gods themselves were fit to wield was a preposterous one - if such a feat could be accomplished Aglarel was certain that High Prince Telamont, longer lived than any other mortal monarch now living in the World Below and far more powerful, would have long ago accomplished it himself.

The silence was broken by the soft, mirthless chuckle the High Prince uttered as his first real reaction to all that he had learned; on the floor, head still lolling dazedly, Aveil allowed a flicker of confusion to seep into her panic-stricken expression. Aglarel couldn't help but pity her, for he was certain her puzzlement was born mostly of the futile hope she undoubtedly still harbored – if the Most High was amused, would she be spared? Would her punishment be lessened? But the Princes of Shade knew their patron well, and understood that the High Prince only allowed such shows of bemusement to show through when he was far angrier than he could convey – Aglarel took the chuckle to mean that the end of Aveil's life was drawing swiftly nearer, and that it promised to be far more brutal than the Fourth Prince had the capacity to imagine. Telamont rose sinuously, hardly making a sound, and descended the short staircase to the place where Aveil lay with eerily silent steps; his lips were parted in a wicked smile that seemed frozen upon his face, his ceremonial fangs glinting violet in the soft light from the candles illuminating the far edges of the audience hall, and Aglarel found that he was almost breathless with anticipation as the High Prince bent down to address the trembling Archmistress.

"Oh dear," he murmured tremulously, his voice promising retribution. "You poor unfortunate creature… you deplorable little mortal... You truly don't know which matters not to meddle in, do you?"

It happened so quickly that Aglarel almost missed it: one moment Aveil was curled up helplessly on the ground at the High Prince's feet, her lips moving as she begged soundlessly for mercy, and the next the floor beneath her shifted and began to change consistency. The black marble seemed to evaporate away, revealing a fathomless pit writhing with formless shadows with eyes like demons; their black talons reached raggedly up through the pit and tore at the Archmistress's voluminous robes, dragging her across the glossy black surface and further into the darkness in which they resided, and though Aveil scrabbled desperately at the edge she was powerless against the creatures. In the split second before she disappeared Aveil turned the full weight of her terror-stricken gaze upon Aglarel as though willing him to intervene on her behalf, but the Fourth Prince continued to stand idly by, unaffected, as she was swallowed up by the denizens of the shadow with a single awful shriek.

Aglarel could not have relished the sound any more had it been a cry of ecstasy.

In the blink of an eye the floor was all smooth, glassy black marble once more, leaving not a sign to suggest that anything extraordinary had occurred at all; High Prince Telamont turned at once to his treasured half-breed son, his platinum eyes glittering strangely, and the excitement Aglarel saw in those luminous orbs brought him up short. He had enjoyed the macabre spectacle of the Archmistress's imprisonment a great deal, it was true, but he sensed that his sovereign's anticipation now had nothing at all to do with it. What then had caused his sudden shift in demeanor?

He had his answer in the very next moment when Telamont clapped a shadowy hand down upon Aglarel's shoulder and mused aloud, "How to handle this delicate situation, now that we have removed the Archmistress as the lichdrow's intermediary?"

Aglarel's eyes darted to the floor, to the point where just moments ago a horde of shadowy demons had dragged Aveil Arthien down into the depths of their hellish world as though he expected to see her being tormented there still, mulling the question over in his mind. Only when it occurred to him just what the High Prince was referring to did he dare to glance back up, and the cool monotony that characterized his usual expression was lost to sheer incredulity. "…Surely you are not considering taking Lim Tal'eyve up on this outlandish proposal, Holy Father?"

"I suppose to call this particular development outlandish isn't far off the mark, is it?" Telamont agreed with an indulgent little chortle, and his hand moved to circle Aglarel's shoulders as he tugged him to his side bracingly, and together they trod in the direction of the world window, which lay dormant and waiting to be used. "Though I have often disagreed with the Archmistress's methods and I have always found her insatiable need to rebel against power figures quite taxing, I had long convinced myself that she was possessed of above average cunning and common sense for a mortal. That she entered into this arrangement at all – and with her most hated enemy, no less – has left me somewhat dumbfounded, I must admit. But then, perhaps we should not be so quick to pass judgment on her; after all, she was surely coerced into putting these events in motion. I suppose any mortal will become similarly desperate in such a situation."

Aglarel's eyes were upon the black marble underfoot, tracing the smooth grooves with his eyes as he mulled over all that his sovereign had said. At last he dared to ask, "Holy Father, are you justifying Aveil's actions here? She is still a conspirator against the Tanthul Dynasty. The punishment for her crime is death."

"Do you recall the precise moment when your own soul was torn from your body? Do you remember what it was like living for a handful of seconds as a half-creature, reduced to such a lowly and meaningless existence while your body cried out to be made whole again?"

They were standing at the world window now, gazing thoughtfully down into its glass-pool surface, and the High Prince could clearly see Aglarel's pained expression reflected therein. Of course he remembered it – how could he forget? The agony of having his soul forcibly ripped away had been terrible enough, to be sure, and the process of having a wisp of pure, concentrated shadow essence introduced into his ruined body in its place had been even more excruciating, but there was something even more abhorrent about those horrifying moments in which he had lain there between the two events. Those moments were clearer and more poignant in his recollection than the moments of great pain, for in that time he had been acutely aware of the sorry state he had been reduced to. With it he had long associated feelings of grave loss, of emptiness, of purposelessness, and just dwelling briefly on those memories made him shudder with loathing. Yes, he remembered. He knew without asking that all of his brothers would recall those moments with startling clarity as well.

The High Prince nodded once, understanding that in his silence Aglarel was answering in his own way. "And can you imagine being made to survive in that state for days, with the added fear that you may have no choice but to live out the rest of your days in such a way? A hollow shell, a body with no substance? How would you feel? How would you react?"

"I cannot say for certain, for I can only hope that I will never be reduced to such a state," Aglarel began tonelessly, "but knowing my purpose here and all that is expected of me, I can say with some confidence that I would be prepared to do absolutely anything to reclaim what had been lost."

"I am certain the Archmistress entertained similar thoughts when she became aware of the fact that Lim Tal'eyve had come into possession of her soul – but then, I am certain that the lichdrow had planned to gain her cooperation through whatever means necessary from the start." Telamont dropped his arm from the Fourth Prince's shoulders and raised his shadowy hand to stroke his chin, considering. "He has likely been planning this carefully for quite some time. Knowing that he couldn't accomplish such feats in his current state – that is to say, while he remains the slave of the Spider Queen – Lim Tal'eyve had little choice but to enlist aid wherever he could find it. He procured Aveil's soul specifically for this purpose – to force her into doing his bidding until such time as he could find the means to do it himself."

Aglarel blinked down at their reflections in the dormant pool, mesmerized by the High Prince's piercing gaze. "Then you will not kill her?"

"Have you shared the truth of the Archmistress's deception with anyone else?"

"No, Holy Father. Only with you."

"Then I will not kill her… at least, not yet."

Aglarel nodded, for it all made sense now. "Then you are considering the lichdrow's proposal. With all due respect, Holy Father, you cannot give Lim Tal'eyve the gift of the shadow for his own. Only those of Netherese descent have ever been worthy of receiving such a reward – when the lower class learns that you intend to exalt a dark elf with little to no understanding of our proud heritage, they will mutiny. When the Princes of Shade come to understand that you have bestowed the most precious accolade of the Tanthul Dynasty upon the man who unleashed a horde of phaerimm upon the last city of the Netherese Imperium, they will rebel." Aglarel was pacing restlessly to and fro at the edge of the basin that housed the world window now, his words coming more quickly and with far more conviction as his true opinions showed through. "And what will you stand to gain? Potentially nothing! The lichdrow will return the Archmistress's soul, and in her, perhaps, you may gain a somewhat useful ally, but there is no truth to the lichdrow's claims that the power to vanquish the Spider Queen lies with him. This is nothing but the bluster of a madman, the clever deception of a tormented soul who has grown tired of his pitiable lot in life and covets something that is far beyond him. Do you truly believe that this man could have the power to overthrow a _goddess_?"

"No," Telamont put in smoothly, effectively derailing the mounting momentum of the Fourth Prince's argument with that single syllable. "I do not. All the more reason for us to allow him to try."

Fourth Prince Aglarel was highly intelligent, as all of the Princes of Shade were, but he had a difficult time sublimating his frustration as he struggled to comprehend just what his sovereign was planning to do. He clenched his fists at his sides in an effort to keep calm as he said, "I am not certain I understand what you mean. You will risk unrest in your kingdom knowing that the lichdrow can only fail?"

"But will he fail?" wondered Telamont cryptically, as much to himself as to his son, and his eyes narrowed as he brooded on the matter. "We have only to gain in this matter. To allow Lim Tal'eyve to become a shade is not without its drawbacks, to be sure – you are not wrong when you assume that the act will cause discord, both among the commoners and the court – but you cannot deny that the potential gains far outweigh the risks. If we return Aveil Arthien's soul to her we can be almost assured of her continued loyalty to Thultanthar; if we can ensure that she will be cooperative we will gain yet another reputed master of the arcane, a wealth of knowledge of the goddess Mystra, and even stronger ties to the Citadel of Assassins."

A piece of the puzzle clicked neatly into place for Aglarel and he found himself nodding along, albeit a little resentfully. He should have known from the start that Aveil Arthien would become the High Prince's newest curiosity, another trophy to add to his already quite impressive collection; he had seen it happen before, first with Hadrhune, then a few years back with Soleil, and just recently with Phendrana. "Of course. She is your next… acquisition."

The High Prince neither confirmed nor denied that outright, but his silence was all the response that Aglarel needed. Instead, he moved on to his next point. "Did the Archmistress confide in you the lichdrow's motivations for choosing to betray the Spider Queen? Perhaps he saw fit to entrust her with that information… it might help shed some additional light on this great matter."

"She did," Aglarel confirmed. "It seems that Lim Tal'eyve's motivations never wavered, and that he intended to betray the Spider Queen all along. I have gathered from what Aveil has told me that the lichdrow has been biding his time and working to gain Lolth's trust in order to divine a more permanent means to restore himself to the flesh – or into some higher calling, as I suspect he has coveted for quite some time. He has not been unsuccessful; it was Lolth who brought to him the secret of becoming a lich, and it was Lolth, too, who granted him the wraith form he used to attack the Archmistress and Neverwinter, as well as lead the phaerimm into Thultanthar."

"In all of these instances he accomplished much," Telamont reminded. "The phaerimm assault on our great city claimed hundreds of lives, and placed even the Princes of Shade in mortal peril. Were it not for Aveil Arthien's proactive spellcasting and her knowledge of the Shadow Weave, the lichdrow would have claimed Hadrhune's life in Neverwinter. And let us not forget that in the short period of time he ruled over the reincarnation of Castle Perilous in the Bloodstone Lands he was able to bring about the destruction of Heliogabalus, as well as the death of the paladin king Gareth Dragonsbane. What might he achieve with the gift of the shadow at his disposal?"

"He might achieve all that he has promised," Aglarel admitted, though it was plain in his tone that he highly doubted his own words, "or he might bring about the complete dissolution of the Tanthul Empire."

"Or he might fail, only to be utterly destroyed," the High Prince corrected, his tone one of warning, and Aglarel understood that he would do well to mind his tongue. "Because make no mistake, Aglarel – in the event that I acquiesce to the lichdrow's requests and place the validity of the Tanthul family as well as my own reputation at stake in the name of his proposal, I will subject him to the most forbidden and excruciating tortures known to man in the event that he fails me in the end."

That vow brought to Aglarel a certain measure of comfort, but it was not quite enough to dispel his fears. Though he was devoted to the High Prince of the City of Shade and would never in his wildest dreams consider working counter to his will, there was no denying the absurdity of the situation unraveling around Lim Tal'eyve. It could not be said that the lichdrow hadn't accomplished many great and terrible feats throughout the course of his unnatural life, but to even think that he was capable of overthrowing a goddess and taking her place alongside other great deities when he had been born mortal was an unthinkable atrocity. He could not deny that his instincts suggested that he rebel, to find a way to make his sovereign see reason, but he shook those instincts off and buried them beneath his considerable discipline. It was clear that the Most High had made up his mind, and it was not his place to offer up such resistance – it was his place to comply. Besides, it sounded as though the High Prince had considered all avenues carefully before settling upon his verdict – he had contingencies in place in the event that Lim Tal'eyve betrayed them, or if his efforts fell short of his promised outcome.

Perhaps the High Prince had known the full scope of Aveil's bargain with the lichdrow from the very start, but had been content merely to sit back and watch as Aglarel scrambled to uncover the answers he was already privy to. He had done so with all of his sons before today – it was a way to measure their worth. His brothers found it bothersome; Aglarel found it necessary.

He turned to face the Most High then, dropping down to one knee and bowing his head in a show of complete servitude, ashamed of himself for challenging his sovereign's decisions. When he spoke, his voice was humble. "Instruct me, Holy Father. Tell me how I might aid you in this. You have my full support, as always."

"I had hoped you would say as much," came Telamont's voice from above him, calmer now, almost serene, and out of the corner of his eye Aglarel thought he perceived light and motion as the world window became active and began to formulate some desired image. "The task that I have for you now is of the utmost importance – there is none within the enclave I could entrust it to save you. The nature of it is far too delicate… Your brothers would ask far too many questions, questions that I have little desire to answer."

"Tell me," the Fourth Prince implored, and Telamont pulled his favored half-breed son back to his feet.

"It falls to you now to journey to the Abyss and search for the wraith that Lim Tal'eyve has become," Telamont explained gravely, taking note of Aglarel's eyes as they widened a fraction in surprise. "I would prefer to handle this myself, but I suppose it wouldn't be prudent of me to do so."

Aglarel needed no further explanation. It was an unspoken, undisputed rule that High Prince Telamont never abandoned his seat of power for any reason, even an errand of great importance such as this. Though he was many millennia old and ranked as one of the strongest sorcerers that Faerun had ever known, he was not without his share of enemies – enemies who were far too cowardly to attempt to breach Thultanthar's security, but who would not overlook an opportunity to strike at Lord Shadow in the event that he ever journeyed beyond the protection of the enclave. In Aglarel's recollection there existed not a single instance in which Telamont had ever traveled outside the city, and he suspected that Telamont would never do so unless an event of apocalyptic proportions were suddenly thrust upon him. This was hardly such an event, but Aglarel couldn't help but wonder if it would escalate into something that even the High Prince couldn't help but be concerned about before all was said and done.

"No, Holy Father," Aglarel answered vaguely, his thoughts racing down a dozen avenues as he considered the scope of the task he had been given. "I do not think it would be."

Telamont's hand was exerting pressure upon his shoulder, turning him around, moving him to face the world window. "I had hoped you would agree to represent me in this great matter – after all, you are the appropriate choice. You and I both know of someone within that hellish place that would embrace your presence with open arms, would be willing enough to lead you through the chaos and destruction of the lower planes on the way to your ultimate goal. It seems after all this time she may still be of use to us… Let us do what we can to take advantage of that."

Aglarel found his eyes drawn to the rippling surface of the world window, blinking rapidly in the too-fierce light emanating from the enchanted pool, as gradually a figure formed in its silvery depths and began to take shape; with its image Aglarel drew no sense of surprise, for some subconscious part of him had known all along that the Archmistress's business would lead him down this path. There was no shock within him, only a sense of impending doom.

It was the face of the winged she-devil with whom he had been warring in his mind for days now, ever since he had first dreamt of her after taking up the High Prince's first task. The comely abyssal dweller who had opposed his chosen course from the outset, the wicked demon whose one-time tryst with Lord Shadow had produced the enigmatic but undeniably deadly Fourth Prince of the City of Shade.

His mother.


	9. That Devil, Confronting

That Devil, Confronting

She had tried to warn him, Aglarel recalled, standing silently by as Seventh Prince Dethud made the necessary preparations; the beguiling demoness had tried to make this course of events plain to him with her every breath. It was his fault entirely that he had misinterpreted her words – all along he had assumed that she had intended to keep him wary of Aveil with her cryptic warnings, and to ensure that he didn't allow the Archmistress to worm her way to deeply into his heart, for it was there that she had the potential to cause the most crippling damage. And so he had safeguarded himself – really, it had been easy to put up defenses against Aveil and her pathetic attempts to seduce him, for such lusts of the flesh had never served as his primary motivations. Had he taken a step back from his own suppositions and listened, _really_ listened to what she'd been trying to say, it would have been all too easy for him to discern the real warning she had desperately tried to impart to him.

That if he didn't take great care, he would be allowing Aveil Arthien to set in motion a chain of events that, for Thultanthar, could very easily have catastrophic results. That if he didn't exercise the necessary countermeasures against the Archmistress's schemes, he would find himself playing emissary to an errand that was considered heretical to the High Prince's own laws. That if he continued to turn a blind eye and a deaf ear, he would be inadvertently responsible for restoring Lim Tal'eyve to life, and to power.

Though he was in a way disgusted by the part he was about to play, Aglarel didn't see how he could have escaped such a fate even if he had paid heed to the she-devil's words. What was the alternative? To defy the High Prince's express wishes and destroy the Archmistress outright, rendering her bargain with the lichdrow null and void? To turn to the other Princes of Shade with the news that not only was their sovereign prepared to allow a conspirator against the Tanthul Empire to live, but he also fully intended to breach ancient Netherese tradition and bestow the gift of the shadow upon a known enemy to the crown, in the hopes that his brothers would rise up in mutiny? To somehow retrieve the Archmistress from her torture at the High Prince's hands and tear the ring from her finger, in the hopes that such a simple action might simply rid him of all the cares associated with it?

No, of course none of these things were possible – really, Aglarel was ashamed of himself for considering such avenues at all, regardless of the fact that he had never had any real intention of pursuing them. The High Prince of the City of Shade was omnipotent in his power – he would know if Aglarel was even considering such treachery, and would likely not hesitate to strike a lethal blow against him. The only reason Telamont had entrusted him with such delicate matters was because he was assured of Aglarel's loyalty and knew without asking that Aglarel would follow his every command to the letter. So even though Aglarel harbored a qualm or two with his present charge, he wasn't about to let such doubts trouble him. The High Prince issued an edict, and Aglarel followed it unquestioningly. Such had been their unspoken arrangement for hundreds of years.

Instead of questioning the logic or the sanity behind the High Prince's decision, Aglarel had complied and returned to Villa Hara for a short time. He had no real need to be there – his only motivation for doing so was to seek out a few uninterrupted moments for contemplation, as he struggled to come to terms with what he was about to do. He had spent a quarter of an hour binding holy enchantments to a masterfully-crafted dagger from his collection, a work of art whose hilt was black leather bound with silver thread and whose blade was as thin and sharp as a razor; the dweomers he knitted into the blade were tricky, and once or twice he questioned his own conviction as well as the strength of the enchantments he was attempting to cast, but in the end he succeeded in forging a weapon whose blade glowed with the soft golden hue of a holy relic. He handled it with exaggerated care as he sheathed it upon his belt, always careful not to nick his own skin with its razor's edge, for the very enchantments he had been striving to weave into the metal were not only fatal to his intended target but to himself as well.

Surely she knew what was coming, after all?

Then he had gone without a word to anyone, back to the faintly foggy and too-cold chamber within the Shadow Mages College where his brother Seventh Prince Dethud communed daily with strange deities and otherworldly creatures Aglarel himself was loathe to name; once there he had given his brother his request and Dethud had complied at once, a true testament to both the depth of his discretion and his devotion to the High Prince. Aglarel watched now with great interest as the necromancer traced a simple iron wand about the floor, inscribing curious runes in fell tongues upon the glassy black marble, speaking softly in the same infernal language, imbuing the words with tremendous power.

It was half an hour or more before the summoning circle was complete – Dethud left nothing to chance and double checked all of his wards, perfecting every stroke, devoting himself completely to the task – but Aglarel was in no hurry to proceed and said nothing. When at last Dethud seemed satisfied with his work he turned back to face his older brother, taking note of Aglarel's surlier-than-usual expression and moving slowly to stand beside him.

"The preparations are complete," Dethud informed him mildly, tucking the iron wand into its place on his wand bracer. "Have you the name of the devil you wish to summon?"

"I do," growled Aglarel, his eyes tracing the glowing runes as he brooded.

Dethud was quiet for a moment, careful not to agitate the assassin, but when Aglarel made no move to continue he cleared his throat politely and pressed, "When you have made it known to me, I will proceed with the summons."

Aglarel waved a hand, looking harassed, his gaze still very far removed from the present. "A moment," he requested, his tone nearly a plea. "I just need a moment."

"Of course," Dethud agreed amicably, relaxing the set of his shoulders a little. "The enchantments will hold."

The Fourth Prince kicked the chair away from the enchanting table, which was still littered with strangely deformed bones and rare alchemical ingredients with which he was not at all familiar, and sank down into it as though he didn't trust his feet to hold him up any longer; Dethud watched this uncharacteristic behavior with mild curiosity and faint concern, sidling up to Aglarel's side without a word, hoping to impart support with his presence alone. The silence was almost maddening, and more to fill it than to strike up any real conversation Aglarel began to speak. "The devil is an Erinye. She and I have suffered through the occasional dealing or two in the past several centuries at the High Prince's request, and we have had words several times in the last few days."

The necromancer found himself nodding along, for though he had scarcely entertained any Erinyes recently he was still acquainted well enough with their fell kind to have an inkling of what Aglarel had been forced to abide. Erinyes were one of the major subspecies of devil that formed some semblance of a hierarchy in the Abyss, long suspected of being angels that had once entertained the supreme favor of the more goodly divines but had fallen from grace and become the angelic-faced demons they were today. They preyed incessantly on humans and other such easily deceived mortals for sport, as they appeared as beautiful beings that could easily be mistaken as Celestials, and they used their attractive physical features to their utmost advantage in all of their dealings. It was not an uncommon sight in the Nine Hells to look skyward and find an Erinye soaring over the fiery peaks of the Abyss, en route to serve as scouts, spies, or even concubines to far more powerful demon lords.

One thing didn't add up, though, and so Dethud engaged his older brother in conversation in hopes that Aglarel would more easily work out what vexed him. "You say you have had words with her recently, yet this is the first time you have come seeking my counsel in contacting her. How have you been conversing? Has Rivalen helped you?"

Aglarel was shaking his head, his gaze vacant as he recalled the many conversations all at once. "We have not spoken face to face. Rather she seems fit to haunt my waking thoughts with her witchcraft, or torment my dreams with hallucinations.

"You must be well acquainted," Dethud observed delicately, "if she can contact you in such ways."

"Better acquainted than I would like," Aglarel agreed tersely, and his shoulders stiffened.

Dethud wondered if he would do well to keep his thoughts to himself, for it seemed his brother was growing increasingly more agitated, but he couldn't seem to stifle his curiosity. "And what is your business with this Erinye, if I may be so bold as to ask?"

It was deathly quiet in the hall of necromancy as Aglarel considered just how much to divulge, for he was under the impression that the High Prince would be most displeased if he shared too much of these delicate matters with anyone. Nevertheless the Fourth Prince couldn't deny that finally sharing the burdens of his charge with someone else, someone whom for the most part he trusted with such sensitive information, was easing some of the worry he had been carrying since he had agreed to represent the Most High in such matters. As much to calm his own nerves as to fill the expansive void of maddening silence he said, "It is my hope that she will be my guide in the Abyss, while I work to locate the lichdrow Lim Tal'eyve."

The necromancer prince did well to hide his surprise, and proceeded instead with another question he assumed was politically correct. "Ah, I see. The High Prince has charged you with eliminating what remains of him?"

"Were that my task was so simple," Aglarel wished, a rare note of lamentation in his voice, "for I would be far less concerned with the path that lies before me. No, my reasons for seeking out Lim Tal'eyve are far less violent and far more diplomatic than that."

"Can you tell me?" Dethud asked mildly, burning with curiosity now.

"I could, I suppose, but it would cost me the High Prince's favor and that is not something I am willing to risk." Aglarel ran a hand down his face, but he seemed less haggard now than before; talking had helped, Dethud concluded, and congratulated himself for weathering a small measure of his brother's burden. "Besides, as much as it pains me to admit it, you will learn soon enough what business I have in the Abyss, for when my duty is done there will be no hiding the repercussions."

Something in the way Aglarel mentioned the repercussions of his actions made a shudder course down Dethud's spine. Were the words an omen, he wondered, for terrible things soon to befall their grand city? He opened his mouth to question the assassin further but Aglarel stood up, his face rearranged into its cold and uncaring mask, the determination that characterized his every movement sinking back into his muscles.

"Enough chatter," Aglarel growled, facing the glowing runes that the necromancer had cast upon the misty floor of the chamber. "Let us call the harlot and be done with it. I do not enjoy journeying to the Abyss, and would prefer if my errands there were finished sooner rather than later."

Dethud nodded and drifted toward the summoning circle, and with his mind reeling with unanswered questions he shook his hands free of his voluminous sleeves and spoke the first syllable that would call to the creatures of the lower planes. He spoke in the Infernal tongue whose words were foul to the ear and whose inflections were unusual, the runes gleaming brighter as they drew their power from the necromancer's every passing word; with each syllable the temperature in the chamber rose, chasing away the lingering chill as the fires burning in the wall sconces flared ever higher -

There was a pause in the incantation during which Dethud glanced sidelong at his brother in a kind of wordless inquiry; sensing they had reached the end of the summoning Aglarel squared his shoulders and held his head high as he spoke the name of the creature he sought.

"Ocamel."

The name of the hellish creature plunged the chamber into almost complete darkness as it robbed the ensorcelled runes of their mystical power; the flames roared, beads of molten fire leaping from the sconces and incinerating the mist that lingered about the glossy black floor. The darkness that had deepened in the center of the summoning circle with every word the necromancer spoke suddenly became more tangible, and as Aglarel watched the silhouette of a winged female appeared within.

* * *

She heard the words clearly as they echoed off the jagged black peaks of the mountains that speared the sulfuric clouds, spoken gracefully in her native tongue in a voice she did not recognize, and instinctively took up her bow. She had hoped that Fourth Prince Aglarel, the personal guardian of Lord Shadow, would listen to wisdom and pay heed to her warnings eventually, but it seemed he was blind in his fanatical devotion to the High Prince of Thultanthar and no longer capable of listening to reason.

It was Aglarel who spoke her name in the end, three begrudging syllables saturated with hatred and loathing, and she twitched her wings with irritation as she attempted to resist the call.

Her efforts were futile; she had suspected from the outset that they would be. A man as powerful as her son would have mighty friends and even mightier family, and would know better than to leave anything to chance.

She submitted with hardly a fight and allowed herself to be drawn into the curtains of perpetual shadow that beckoned to her, steeling herself for the encounter, wondering if Aglarel could be reasoned with or if she would be forced to eliminate him in the end.

* * *

They stood facing one another for a long time, neither speaking, sizing each other up before they wasted their breath on any words. She stood head and shoulders shorter than him, her skin a backlit alabaster that was of alarming contrast to her burnt crimson locks and the heavy wings that stretched just above her shoulder blades; the muscles in her arms were taut and honed from her work with the bow, a skill that all Erinye were born with and spent their entire lives perfecting. Aglarel took note of the great bow clutched in her right hand, fashioned of either smooth, pale wood or well-polished bone, as well as the quiver of arrows slung over her shoulder and wondered if she had been expecting him to call on her. Her eyes, crimson like molten lava, veritably burned with disgust and something that may have been disappointment within her otherwise cherubic face; when she spoke at last, her voice was a feminine lilt with a hint of malice. "Oh child… what have you done?"

Aglarel winced slightly at her too-familiar greeting of him, but Dethud, completely unaware as to the true nature of their relationship, rose to his older brother's defense at once. "You are addressing the Fourth Prince of the Tanthul Empire, witch," the necromancer told her gravely, his voice more stern than perhaps Aglarel had ever heard it. "You would do well to treat him with some respect!"

"Yes, yes," said Ocamel with a simpering little chuckle, and bending slightly at the waist she spread her lithe arms and offered a mocking little bow. "All hail the bastard prince of Shade!"

Dethud howled with rage and even barked out the first syllable of the sending, but Aglarel threw out one arm and caught his younger brother sharply across the chest. "Do not waste your breath on such a lowly creature," he cautioned the necromancer, and it seemed he had recovered his composure when he spoke. "She is beneath your notice and unworthy to stand in your presence. I think it might be best if you left the two of us for now, brother – my business here is private. I thank you for your aid, and for your counsel."

"Run along," purred the Erinye, winking one crimson eye and blowing a kiss from her pursed, red-painted lips, and though Dethud bristled he did not retaliate; instead he simply nodded once to Aglarel and drifted obediently for the door, pausing only to throw one last glance at the unlikely pair before excusing himself. Aglarel hesitated only a moment longer – long enough to hear the click of the door as Dethud magically locked it from the other side.

"Do not forget your accord with the High Prince," Aglarel reminded forbiddingly, feeling relatively at ease now that they were alone and his secret was still safe. "You vowed, on pain of death, to never reveal the truth of my parentage to anyone. Or has the passing of seventeen hundred years perhaps dulled your memory?"

Ocamel fixed him with a withering look, stretching her wings in such a way that made Aglarel certain she detested being confined, but the summoning circle that Dethud had inscribed was without flaw and she had no means of escape available to her. "I am longer lived than you, and my memory is far sharper than I am certain you would like," she snapped. "I have upheld my promise all these long years – even now, for it is obvious that my jests are lost on that simpleton you name as your brother!"

"Enough," Aglarel hissed, stalking one step nearer, and the Erinye flinched back as though she half expected him to strike her. "I will not tolerate one more insult against the Tanthul family. Now you will hear my proposal, agree to aid me in my errand, and then we will part ways. I am certain you take little pleasure in being in my company, and the feeling is mutual."

The winged she-devil was studying his face with a deepening frown as though she hadn't listened to a word he'd said. At length she said, "Those are not the eyes of the child that sprang from my womb."

"Of course they aren't. Those red devil's eyes were torn from their sockets and replaced with the eyes of a pure-blooded Netherese arcanist." Aglarel paused to smirk at the memory of that tale's retelling, for he had been only a newborn when it had occurred and had no real recollection of it. "That shadow sorcerer may have failed the High Prince utterly, but his eyes have served me well."

"And they call me a devil," Ocamel breathed in over-exaggerated horror.

"The proposal," said Aglarel again, impatiently this time, "or I will deliver you to your death."

"I know what you wish of me, child," huffed Ocamel, stretching her great burgundy wings with longing, eyeing the octagonal walls of the necromancy chamber like a caged animal yearning for freedom. "You would have me take you to the lichdrow, that you might barter for the soul of Aveil Arthien. I tell you now, it is a fool's errand – her soul is worth so little, yet you would stake the future of your great empire upon it?"

"Do not pretend you aren't wise to the depth of this conspiracy, for it was you who tried to warn me where these events would lead from the start. Aveil Arthien is a minor player in a widespread plot with Lim Tal'eyve at its center and the pantheon as the prize – knowing the High Prince's penchant for mortals with unusual talents you knew that he would come to covet the Archmistress, and that he would be most unwilling to allow her to pass beyond the Veil." Pieces fell into place for Aglarel even as he spoke aloud, gaining confidence with every word. "You suspected he would resurrect her, for he had use of her skills. She is the next piece in his collection, and you knew he wouldn't let her slip out of his grasp – but you knew also that Lim Tal'eyve had been counting on that for quite some time, didn't you? The High Prince doesn't often suffer mortals to reside within Thultanthar – only those that have some notable potential – and from the first moment Hadrhune came to the Archmistress's aid in Neverwinter at the Most High's request the lichdrow has been plotting to use her to achieve his ends. He needed only to propose the added incentive of delivering Lolth as a gift of gratitude to the High Prince for allowing him to join the ranks of the shades to convince the High Prince to play his game."

"A game in which you have been serving as Lord Shadow's unwitting pawn," Ocamel added with a scoff.

Aglarel spread his hands, neither confirming nor denying her claim. "The High Prince does what he will to achieve his ends."

"And you will allow him to manipulate you in this way? You will be the tool he uses to pluck the Day-Burden from the Abyss and carve for him a place in the heavens?"

"Only because I believe that the lichdrow will not succeed."

"You risk much for your sovereign," Ocamel observed darkly. "What if Lim Tal'eyve _does_ succeed? What if he is destined to rise above even your precious Lord Shadow? Are you really so foolish to believe that Telamont has the power to topple a god?"

"I believe that the High Prince is capable of defeating Lim Tal'eyve, regardless of the form he chooses to take."

"But a _god_?"

Aglarel chuckled softly and malevolently beneath his breath. "The Most High has had many opportunities in the past to transcend his final bond of mortality and become one of the divines himself, but Shar has need of him in his current state, and so he remains. Do not make the mistake of thinking, even for a moment, that a lowly creature such as Lim Tal'eyve could ever best High Prince Telamont Tanthul."

His words had the desired effect on Ocamel, but she was unused to having the last word and couldn't resist one final argumentative remark. "You and I, and your father as well, have seen with our own eyes all that Lim Tal'eyve is capable of. You would do well to keep those instances in the forefront of your thoughts while you deal with him – for I am certain that is why you have summoned me here, is it not? To act as ferryman on your journey into the Abyss?"

"Had I no reason to contact you," Aglarel spat, "rest assured, I would not have. You will take me?"

"Have I any choice in the matter?"

Aglarel allowed his smirk to serve as his reply as he approached the center of the circle in which the Erinye had been summoned, and Ocamel did not miss his meaning; she offered her bow when he was within arms' reach instead of her hand or her arm, for it was clear in her expression that she found the mere notion of physical contact shared between them positively repulsive, and Aglarel grasped her at the elbow instead for no better reason than to spite her. The winged she-devil cursed beneath her breath and worked to suppress a shudder, and with his ceremonial fangs bared in a genuine smile Aglarel muttered the unfamiliar phrase that was the sending. The moment their feet touched down upon the scorched and jagged stones of Ocamel's native plane of existence she tore her arm free of his grasp and set off at a brisk walking pace, leaving a snickering Aglarel to follow along in her wake.

"You act as though you expect to contract some manner of debilitating disease simply by abiding my presence," Aglarel observed bemusedly, keeping his eyes fixed upon her back, delighting in the increasing wrath within her steps.

Ocamel tossed her hair over her shoulder, glaring back at him with one piercing red eye. "Often I am appalled by the thought that you are my child – you have no redeeming qualities whatsoever, you are ruthless in your conduct, and you make choices with consequences so far-reaching that I cannot help but be ashamed of you."

Though she spat her words with obvious venom, they did nothing to worsen Aglarel's mood. "You should be proud – the High Prince does not often show mercy to anyone, and yet the son you bore him was allowed to live and now holds both power and prestige within an elite society. Is there an accolade greater even than this that you had hoped to achieve?"

"You think I should be proud? My child is the crown prince of a society that would sooner see an abomination restored to life and given power simply for the flimsy promise of gaining a fraction of that power in return than hold fast to its founding ideas and principles. Your father – "

"You will refer to him as High Prince Telamont," Aglarel interrupted her icily, annoyed by the familiarity with which she spoke of the Most High.

" – Has obviously lost his way," the Erinye continued, hardly fazed by the Fourth Prince's comment. "When I was certain that it was his child growing in my belly I fled to the deepest, darkest corner of the Abyss in the hopes that I could bear you in secret, but there was no hiding from him. I was certain he would kill you… I could never have imagined that you would be the first of a handful of curiosities to him, curiosities that would tempt him to stray from the pure-blooded Netherese dynasty he has worked tirelessly to uphold." She paused then, perfect white, slightly-pointed teeth gnawing feverishly upon her full bottom lip, and confessed, "In many ways I wish he had destroyed you – it would have been a more favorable outcome, I think, than watching your father mold you into this cold, cruel, unthinking tool that serves no better purpose than to execute his sovereign's will no matter what that will entails."

Aglarel willed himself to breathe deeply and steadily, focusing on remaining calm in the face of the Erinye's continued antagonism, for she was goading him into acting rashly so that she could gain some sort of upper hand against him and he was fully aware of it. Still, to hear that his own mother wished for his destruction made his blood boil with anger, and before he could master himself he found the familiar red tint creeping into his vision, signaling a complete loss of control that in his rage he was almost powerless to overcome.

In the precious moments allotted to him before their arrangement went sour Aglarel silently praised himself for his foresight, for at least he had prepared a contingency plan.

He began to melt into his own shadow, keen on fleeing into the Shadow Plane while he sought more favorable ground, but Ocamel sensed his intentions and whirled back to face him with one of her enchanted arrows already notched into her bow; he threw up one arm in his own defense in the split second before she let it fly, and ultimately the reflex saved his life. The arrow knifed into Aglarel's forearm and scraped against the bone, wringing a grunt of pain from somewhere deep in his throat, and he grasped the shaft of the arrow and tore it free purely upon instinct. He would not have been concerned were it any normal arrow, but it seemed he was not the only one who had anticipated that they might come to blows – though the head of the arrow was smeared with the black shadowstuff that was the lifeblood of the shades, beneath it he could clearly see that the deadly tip gleamed with an ethereal golden hue.

The telltale mark of the very same enchantments he had bound into one of his own weapons only a handful of hours before.

The effects of the holy magic were devastating. The wound seared with sudden pain that made Aglarel feel as though his blood had caught fire, and abruptly he broke out in a cold and violent sweat; his vision blurred and became so overpoweringly bright that he was rendered blind and staggered to the side. He might have been helpless before the deadly she-devil he faced but for the single laugh she barked out in the face of his sudden weakness, and using that sound to gauge her approximate position Aglarel lunged into a roll in the hopes that he could avoid her next shot.

Thankfully, his desperate roll was successful; he heard the sound of her second arrow as it whizzed harmlessly wide of him and clacked off the hardened magma rock underfoot. He managed to plunge his hand down into the folds of his assassin's garb and let fly with a handful of throwing knives, which he had tipped in a deadly poison before seeking entrance into the Abyss; with his eyesight temporarily compromised he had to depend upon his keen sense of hearing to guide his hand, but his instincts were well rewarded. The first two throwing knives sailed by, but the third, fourth, and fifth struck home – he knew it in the way Ocamel's feet shuffled uncertainly, and in the sharp intake of breath she uttered as the poison began seeping into her bloodstream.

Aglarel came up onto one knee, squinting through the void of white that was his vision, one hand braced upon the uneven ground beside him to keep himself from swooning. The stars exploding across his line of sight made his stomach turn over and he fought the urge to heave, and in that moment of hesitation he was a prime target for Ocamel and her deadly bow. Had the Fourth Prince not sensed her readying another arrow the shot might have been fatal – as it was he still retained the presence of mind to shift the majority of his weight over to the hand that kept him upright and used that momentum to launch himself to the side a few feet, so instead of finding his chest the arrow found its mark in his trailing foot. As he tumbled end-over-end down a gentle slope in the rock he managed to tear the second arrow free so that his body's accelerated healing rate could set to work on the wound immediately, but the holy magic bound into the arrow's head brought on a fresh wave of nausea along with sudden muscle fatigue. He crashed heavily down onto his right side and put out one hand to push himself up, but in his state of incoherency he had no way of knowing just how near to one of the pools of molten lava he had come until it was too late. His hand sunk into the viscous, white-hot magma and he recoiled with a growl as from somewhere above him Ocamel's throaty laugh rang out in perceived victory.

"Is this the extent of your might?" she crowed, her tone saturated with her characteristic simpering superiority. "Is this all the favored half-devil Fourth Prince of Shade can muster?"

All of Aglarel's warrior instincts screamed for him to shake the burning liquid off his hand, but somehow he managed to sublimate the urge through sheer force of will. He held the scorched extremity up before his wide, unseeing eyes and visualized the drops of magma dripping from his fingers, imagined the burning fluid eating its way through his flesh, and thought of nothing but the excruciating pain. And after a handful of seconds, he had succeeded in using his own agony in clearing his vision enough to act.

Ocamel's third arrow enchanted with holy magic lanced through the air as she let fly from on high, but this time Aglarel was ready for it; he shifted his weight back onto his uninjured foot and sprang straight up, and silently invoking the power of the simple steel brooch that clasped his shroud at the shoulder he turned the leap into a kind of controlled levitation. The simple dweomer ensured that the Erinye's shot was well below her intended target, and while she cursed aloud and fumbled to draw another arrow from her quiver Aglarel propelled himself forward as he groped within the hidden fold of his cloak for the ensorcelled dagger he had prepared just for this scenario. Ocamel was impossibly fast as she set her next arrow and pulled the bowstring taut – sometimes Aglarel forgot that he had inherited his speed and dexterity from her – but he had anticipated that she would have time to let loose with one more arrow and strafed effortlessly to one side to avoid it. The arrow sailed wide of his right arm, which by now had fully healed, and then Aglarel was simply too near for her to utilize her bow wisely in combat anymore.

The thin razor blade of the dagger flashed out of Aglarel's cloak and sliced the Erinye's bowstring neatly in half, and with her weapon rendered useless Ocamel could only look on in horror as the Fourth Prince of Shade mercilessly bore down on her.

The dagger stabbed into the tender flesh of Ocamel's bosom and lodged deep within her chest, where the weapon's devastating holy magic was unleashed in full; the Erinye's eyes flashed white and her entire body convulsed involuntarily at the end of the blade, her teeth grinding together hard enough to sear off the tip of her tongue and her muscles clenching and unclenching in the throes of her sudden seizure. Aglarel wrapped his other arm around her and pressed his free hand against the small of her back, holding her close until the shudders wracking her body began to subside, feeling undeniably conflicted as the familiar emotions of triumph and satisfaction clashed with more foreign sensations such as remorse and loss.

Though he would never have suffered her to live from the moment she made her first attempt on his life, Aglarel couldn't deny that something within him shattered beyond repair knowing that the woman who had borne him into the world was now dying at his own hand.

He drew back enough so that he could look her in the eye, and it was apparent at first glance that the damage wrought by the powerful enchantment was irreversible. Her viscous black devil's blood seeped from the corners of her eyes, from her ears and nose, from the edges of her sumptuous ruby-painted lips, and there was a vacant quality about her expression that suggested perhaps she couldn't see him at all anymore; Aglarel wisely kept his dagger rooted in her breast, for he knew well enough that there was no more dangerous opponent than one on the brink of death. The ruined bow slipped from her fingertips as her body began to fall limp but he didn't release her, instead supporting more and more of her weight.

"Your unprovoked attack on me only proves that you are no less of a devil than I," Aglarel told her in a steely, forbidding tone, as though he dared her to dispute the point.

Ocamel deliberately coughed, spattering Aglarel's cheek with flecks of her blood, and though he glared down at her coldly his expression alone wasn't enough to keep her reply at bay. "And which of us hangs at the end of whose blade?"

"You would have killed me."

Ocamel nodded, and the red tint returned to Aglarel's vision with a vengeance until she managed a verbal reply. "To protect your father's cherished legacy, yes, I would have killed you."

"Why?" Aglarel growled. "Why do you insist on opposing me? I follow his wishes to the letter – in hundreds of years I have never faltered. For what reason do you believe that my actions will bring the Tanthul dynasty to ruin?"

"Because your father doesn't need someone to carry out his ill-advised decisions – he needs someone who will resist, who will risk everything to steer the City of Shade back onto the correct path."

"That is something I will never do," snapped the assassin determinedly.

Ocamel only nodded sagely, as though she had known what his answer would be all along. "Then you will all die."

He opened his mouth to rebuke her, only to find that those defiant words had been her last; he held her in his arms for a moment longer, tormented by the wasted curses that now he would never get to say, and then the Fourth Prince of Thultanthar withdrew the enchanted dagger from her chest and watched remorselessly as her lifeless corpse drifted to the ground. As her body sank into the pool of magma below Aglarel could only gaze with open hatred at the blood-soaked knife in his hands, and in the moment before the lava incinerated all that remained of his mother he threw the weapon down upon her corpse for the molten flame to claim along with it.

It was the only trophy that he had no desire to keep.


	10. That Devil, Resolute

That Devil, Resolute

After that he just sat there for awhile, because in the throes of his rage he hadn't considered the fact that he had killed his guide – with Ocamel gone, Aglarel not only had no way to locate Lim Tal'eyve, but no way to return to Shade Enclave in the unlikely event that he completed his errand. The aftereffects of the holy magic were slow to fade from his system; he suffered from light sensitivity for a little over an hour, during which he couldn't stand to keep his eyes open for longer than a few seconds, and though the nausea flew from him with relative swiftness the muscle fatigue was far more difficult to shake. He knew how vulnerable he was lingering out in the open and detested the thought of staying there for long, but he had no way to shake the effects of the Erinye's holy magic any faster and had no choice, in the end, but to wait.

When he felt well enough to move ahead he clambered to his feet and set off in the direction Ocamel had been leading him prior to their altercation, and didn't allow himself to pause for anything. He set a swift pace despite the uneven, treacherous ground, always conscious of the multitudes of hellish winged creatures reeling through the crimson skies overhead; at one point the sulfuric clouds even unleashed a brief shower of acid rain, but Aglarel simply hitched his cloak closer about his body and continued on, enjoying the invulnerability to the elements that the garment afforded him.

He didn't much enjoy the thought of being stranded in the Abyssal Plane for an insurmountable period of time, and enjoyed it far less knowing that he had no one to blame but himself for the setback, but he knew the alternative was to risk the supreme displeasure of the High Prince and that was something he was most unwilling to put at stake. There was next to no chance that any of the foul creatures soaring in close proximity to him would aid him no matter how he propositioned them, and an even more remote chance that any of them knew where to find Lim Tal'eyve anyway. To Aglarel's knowledge the lichdrow was still more or less serving as prisoner to the Spider Queen while he attempted to regain and secure her favor, which he supposed meant that Lim was living in relative seclusion somewhere within the lower planes of existence. While he was assured of his own skills in a venue such as Thultanthar, he didn't fancy testing his mettle against the denizens of the Infernal Plane.

After wandering for many hours, though, Aglarel found that his concerns were all unfounded.

Gradually the terrain became a little less rocky, its hardened magma deposits not as numerous, and began sloping gently downward; though still mildly fatigued Aglarel picked up the pace, eager to get to the bottom of the sudden change in the environment. The rivulets of lava oozing down through rocky crevices and fractures in the jagged mountains became fewer with each step he took, until he was no longer traversing an uneven expanse of scorched earth but a smoother, almost desert-like terrain whose rock was a shade of burnt brick littered with a fine ruby sand. The sulfuric clouds rolled back and Aglarel watched interestedly as the crimson sky darkened from fuchsia to violet and at last to black – though of course there were no stars, only a blank black canvas of eternal night that made him feel somewhat at home in his otherwise alien surroundings. The sweltering heat subsided into milder climes, and by the time Aglarel came to the bottom of the seemingly endless slope the environment seemed almost pleasant.

What awaited him at the bottommost dip in the valley was decidedly less so.

As his eyes were well accustomed to very little or no light, Aglarel had no trouble glimpsing the scene playing out beneath the lightless canopy that served as the sky in the Abyssal Plane – it was a whirling sea of groping black arms, each appendage tipped with ragged, unkempt claws that perpetually slashed at the air as they searched for mortal flesh to tear into. There may have been other features somewhere beneath the surface – gaping maws of razor-sharp teeth, perhaps, or lifeless, staring eyes – but everything else lingered just beneath the pool's surface, obscured by a dark mist and distorted by the roiling waves. Common sense kept Aglarel from drifting too near those swiping arms but he ventured near enough to catch a glimpse of just what the cursed creatures were squabbling over – Aveil Arthien was just visible at the far end of the pool, her fingertips bloody from struggling to keep hold of the edge of the pool and her face barely cresting the surface as she fought against the arms that tore at her and labored for each breath. And sitting cross-legged mere inches away from the Archmistress's flailing hands, somehow impervious to the frantic swipes of the Abyssal dwellers entombed in the pool, was Lim Tal'eyve.

The wraithlike figure of the drow seemed to be speaking in low, hushed tones; Aglarel completed his approach soundlessly, straining to catch every word. "If you would only stop struggling you would see that the High Prince only means to keep you subdued, not kill you. If you drown in there it will be of your own volition, and no one else's." There followed a pause during which Lim listened rapturously to Aveil's gasps as she endeavored to form words, after which he added in a sarcastic voice, "Well, don't heed my advice, then. I have only lived for years down here – what do I know?"

"Can you blame her for questioning your word?" Aglarel spoke up, and though he wore a devious smile that displayed his amusement at Aveil's plight inwardly he was reminding himself precisely where all of his weapons were located on his person.

Lim Tal'eyve managed to pry his eyes away from the hellish pool long enough to glance Aglarel's way; he turned his head readily but not quickly, suggesting he had been aware of the assassin's presence all along. The smile he flashed was not unlike the one Aglarel wore himself, and then the drow was climbing to his feet and sweeping into a low, very respectful bow. "I suppose not," Lim admitted with a chortle, and when he straightened he seemed pleased. "I had hoped to receive the High Prince's emissary in a far less dismal locale, but I thought it only fair that I keep dear Aveil company while I waited. After all, it is mostly on my account that she has landed herself in this predicament to begin with."

Aglarel arched an eyebrow skeptically. "Mostly?"

The wraith spread his hands. "Can you not agree that her sentence may have been more lenient if she didn't insist on being so uncooperative?"

Aglarel couldn't help but concede the point. "You have me there."

For the first time a shadow of doubt rippled across Lim's otherwise oddly serene expression. "Forgive me, Fourth Prince Aglarel – I am, of course, pleased to receive you. I cannot help but express my surprise that it is _you_ who has come here."

"You were expecting Hadrhune." Aglarel's tone made it plain that he was not asking, but telling.

Lim hitched his shoulders and snickered a little sheepishly. "Well, yes, actually. In all things he has been such a lion in her defense… When he came to thwart my efforts in Neverwinter I was certain it was because your sovereign had charged him with defending her, so naturally I was expecting that our paths would cross again. Can you tell me, what has happened to keep him from coming here? I daresay it is because he has displeased your sovereign in some way, though of course I would never be so audacious as to assume that I have any insight whatsoever into the inner workings of the High Prince."

"It is well that you know your place – I was hoping I wouldn't have to waste my time in teaching it to you." Aglarel crossed his arms over his chest and surveyed the drow through slitted silver eyes, always considering, always appraising. "You could say that Hadrhune played his part a little _too_ well – he began to favor Aveil's personal vendettas over even the Most High's agenda, and even saw fit to pursue his own personal desires above the High Prince's express wishes."

"Oh dear." Lim somehow managed to look distinctly troubled by this news. "Might I inquire as to what transgression he committed?"

"The Most High commanded that Hadrhune not come to know the Archmistress carnally while she resided within the city," Aglarel explained bluntly. "Hadrhune disobeyed."

Lim made a show of wincing as though pained by this revelation. "Ah, that really is too bad. He was a most formidable opponent… Do you know, I was secretly rooting for him."

Aglarel crooked an eyebrow again, wearing a dubious expression. "Were you?"

"Of course." The wraith broke off long enough to toss the assassin a roguish wink. "For longer than I have been acquainted with her Aveil has been getting her way in all things, regardless of who she has been involved with. I had rather hoped that, in Hadrhune, she had at last stumbled across the one man she couldn't cow… It seems I was wrong after all."

"Mortals are fallible," Aglarel pointed out.

Lim nodded. "I wholly agree." He paused then as though wondering at the wisdom of his words before at last adding, "One of the many reasons why I so anticipated your arrival… I am certain at this point that the Archmistress has made my intentions perfectly clear, to you and to your sovereign."

"She has been quite unhelpful for the most part," Aglarel admitted, "but yes, she did divulge your plans to me." The Fourth Prince found that he was grateful they were reaching the crux of the matter, for he had little patience for idle chitchat. "You mean to request that the High Prince restore you to life and grant you the gift of the shadow, and in exchange you have promised to usurp the Spider Queen and deliver her to the High Prince, as a gift of your goodwill and as thanks for his generosity."

"I also intend to return Aveil's soul," Lim added agreeably, "as per my original bargain with her… Unless of course the High Prince intends to punish her, in which case I will leave that to him. If the decision falls to me, though, I would prefer to uphold my end of our agreement." The drow chuckled softly at some private joke before finishing, "I think you and I can both agree that the Archmistress is simply too entertaining to be kept chained in the Abyss… No, I believe that there is still far more amusement to be had at her expense."

Aglarel chose not to offer his opinion on the matter, though of course he silently agreed. Instead he opted for a far more diplomatic answer. "The Most High has taken an interest in the Archmistress and would like her soul returned to her without delay."

"An interest?" Lim echoed incredulously, for it was clear in both his tone and his expression that he had not been expecting to hear such news. "Of what nature?"

"I am not privy to that information," Aglarel lied smoothly. "That is the High Prince's business."

The wraith was nodding briskly, looking sheepish again, as though he suspected this question would not be received well. "I see – forgive me. I meant no disrespect."

The Fourth Prince knew that he should let it go at that and continue their negotiations, which so far had been rather more amicable in nature than he had originally anticipated, but the memories of all the discord and turmoil that the lichdrow had wrecked upon the City of Shade in the last several tendays suddenly came rushing back to him with startling clarity and forced him to reconsider. Now that he and Lim Tal'eyve were finally standing face to face he found his long-sublimated rage was at last bubbling back to the surface – here was the man who had nearly taken the life of Most High Telamont's chosen emissary Hadrhune. Here was the man who had bypassed Thultanthar's strongest security wards without batting an eyelash. Here was the man who had mustered an overwhelming army of phaerimm on a whim and led the awful aberrations to the High Prince's doorstep, all while facing little opposition. And suddenly Aglarel found that he wanted answers for himself.

"You were not so thoughtful or considerate when you declared war upon the Empire of Shade," Aglarel growled inhospitably, for the memory still did not sit well with him and he suspected he would never feel much better about it.

To Aglarel's surprise and intense dislike, Lim actually laughed aloud as though this was an absurd thing to say. "Actually, I was. The decision to lead the attack on Thultanthar was not something I did without much careful consideration beforehand – to be completely honest, I almost didn't go through with it. Briefly I toyed with the idea of coming alone and making my attempt on Aveil's life, for Lolth's eyes are always upon me and I knew I needed to act soon, but decided against it simply because the margin for error was too great. The odds that I will accomplish anything decline significantly if I am dead, you see." Aglarel opened his mouth smartly to tell the wraith that he did not find him at all amusing, but Lim overrode him. "I opted for the direct approach because it was the quickest way I could think of to convey all of the messages I wished to convey to your sovereign, but my plans went awry."

"When Aveil struck the killing blow that sent you back to the Abyss," Aglarel reasoned, but Lim was shaking his head.

"No, no – that was something of a boon for me, truth be told. Aveil wasn't then wise to my real intentions, and assumed that I truly meant her ill – in killing me she bought me a little more time, for then of course Lolth assumed that I was still faithful to her and wouldn't be watching me as closely. In the Spider Queen's complacency I was able to divulge the truth of my plans to Aveil, who might have protested if I hadn't used her soul as leverage against her."

Aglarel's questions increased exponentially. "Then you didn't mean to kill the Archmistress at all?"

Lim shrugged as though it hardly mattered; Aglarel, who had long been of the opinion that all mortals were expendable, couldn't help but marvel at the lichdrow's total disregard for all life. "I rather thought that anyone among her companions would intervene before it came to that, but they all stood there with the most dumbfounded looks on their faces… Perhaps they were hoping I might actually put an end to her, and save them the aggravation of being in her presence."

The Fourth Prince thought back to the small group of those who had allegedly been present at the Archmistress's demise – Brennus, Hadrhune, Soleil, and Phendrana – and cursed their ineptitude. "Then explain something to me. You say that it was never your goal to kill Aveil, and you were not much inconvenienced when she banished you back to the Abyss, but you have already admitted that your plans went awry. If neither of these things troubled you, what did?"

Lim heaved a sigh and ran a hand down his face, his expression growing sour as he remembered. "The phaerimm. Believe it or not, slaughtering your people in droves was also not a part of my plan."

"You lie," Aglarel hissed, insulted by such an audacious claim.

But the lichdrow spread his hands out wide, a wordless reminder that he concealed nothing. "I have nothing to gain in lying," he pointed out. "I am now under closer scrutiny by your sovereign than anyone else in all the Realms – even the slightest inconsistency in my words would be viewed as grounds for the instant dissolution of any bargain he might make with me. I know that you are nearer to him than any of the other nobles that surround him, for if you were not he would never have sent you here, and that you will relay all that I say directly to him. So I choose to be truthful, in the hopes that when the High Prince makes his decision my compliance will tip the scales in my favor."

"You are clever," Aglarel admitted begrudgingly. "Your vision is far-reaching, but it may not benefit you in the end. If the High Prince comes to see you as a threat in any way, he will eliminate you. That has always been his way."

"Of course it has," Lim agreed with an indulgent little chuckle that grated on the assassin's nerves. "History is littered with the tales of monarchs who have had power unceremoniously ripped from their grasp simply because they were too trusting. If your sovereign was one of these, I daresay he would not have lived so long."

"Something you would do well to remember," Aglarel warned, hoping to rattle the lichdrow with his continued veiled threats, but if Lim Tal'eyve was at all intimidated by anything the Fourth Prince had said he was doing a remarkable job of keeping his unease hidden. "In any case… the phaerimm."

"Yes, yes." Lim's expression fell, as though the memory of the assault on Thultanthar caused him great pain; Aglarel found himself wishing it was within his power to destroy the wraith and be done with it. "I had long since made up my mind to present my proposal to your sovereign, and my coming to Thultanthar was meant to be a grand affair in which we two sat down and talked over my proposition – but when I chose to include the phaerimm, my error in judgment cost me that opportunity. Instead of approaching the High Prince diplomatically I was made out to be a threat, a potential usurper… all on account of those wretched creatures."

"You know little of the phaerimm if you had intended to use them for anything other than senseless slaughter," Aglarel pointed out disdainfully.

"And I will not be utilizing them in the future," Lim assured dryly. "You can be certain of that."

One thing didn't quite add up for Aglarel, and he had grown quite tired of beating around the bush. "Why enlist them at all? If your intentions were to approach the Most High peaceably, as you have said, why bring with you an army at your back? Security?"

Lim Tal'eyve glanced over his shoulder toward the whirling depths of the black pool, where the dozens of grasping black hands were no less active than before; Aveil's face was just visible above the surface, but she had grown much paler and seemed to be very still. Aglarel resisted the urge to go to her, knowing that to do so would be to defy the High Prince's express wishes.

"I am familiar with the ways of wise kings," the lichdrow began slowly, his tone of voice introspective now. "And I know also that the wisest of kings is by far the most burdened by the petty requests of his subjects. Such is the way with your sovereign – he endeavors daily to maintain order within his kingdom through whatever means available to him, but I imagine that the sheer volume of insignificant duties thrust upon him by the weak and undeserving can be nothing less than exhausting. Knowing that I am barely a blink in the High Prince's eye, I knew that my request would seem to him just another one of these meaningless appeals – something, I was certain, he would pass over without much consideration. The men who capture the attention of kings are the men who appear as a force to be reckoned with – a potential ally of some importance, one who might one day be considered a collaborator with something to offer. And that is why I enslaved dozens of phaerimm."

"Enslaved?" echoed Aglarel incredulously. "You enlisted the aid of dozens… _hundreds_… of phaerimm _against their will_?!"

Lim blinked, somewhat taken aback by the prince's uncharacteristic outburst. "Were you under the impression that they followed me willingly into the resting place of their most hated enemies?" He chuckled into the back of his hand as though the mere notion was preposterous. "What folly! Can you imagine? A force of the thornbacks of that size, marching to the drum of a man they had never met? Assaulting the last stronghold of the Netherese Imperium, knowing full well that victory was never within their grasp? Tell me, Fourth Prince Aglarel – are there any creatures in the world foolish enough to do such things?"

"_How_?!" howled the assassin, his silver eyes piercing through the gloom. "_Why_?!"

"The how is quite simple," Lim explained mildly, as though he couldn't fathom just why the prince was getting so worked up. "For all of my schemes, am I not still entertaining the Spider Queen's utmost favor? Why, it would be far more shocking if she _didn't_ favor me after all I have done! I made an attempt on Aveil's life and nearly succeeded in not only eliminating her, but your sovereign's chosen emissary as well. I formulated the entire plan to lead a contingent of phaerimm into Thultanthar all the while convincing her that I was doing so to eradicate your great shadow city in her name, a blow that would have crippled the power of Shar. Since she believed my actions would benefit her, she allowed me to follow through with it. Lolth herself nullified your security measures, and created the portal that allowed me access to the city. As for why, I believe you now have enough of the paltry details to fully comprehend the scope of my designs, so I will tell you: I enslaved the phaerimm with my own abilities, for the gifts Lolth has bestowed upon me over the last several years are now so great that such feats are within my grasp even without the Spider Queen's help. I bent the phaerimm to my will because I knew that to do such a thing would capture your sovereign's attention, and perhaps even a certain measure of his awe. And when the mightiest of kings is struck with awe, he is far more apt to listen to a proposal as outlandish as mine."

"A display," Aglarel breathed, at last understanding. "The phaerimm force was all for show."

Lim nodded, pleased. "Of course – and can you say in all honesty that such a plan would have failed? If I had showed up at your sovereign's doorstep with hundreds of your most hated enemies behind me, all of which had been cowed by my strength, do you really think he would have turned me away?"

Aglarel's expression hardened against as he remembered himself. "I cannot speak for the High Prince."

"Of course you can't," Lim said with a maniacal little laugh that set Aglarel's blood boiling again. "But I think we both know the answer."

"You lost control of them," Aglarel pointed out, eager now to prove that the lichdrow was not as capable as he made himself out to be. "They rebelled against your machinations and took up their own agenda. Hundreds of the Most High's faithful followers lost their lives on account of you and your inadequacies."

The wraith's unusual amber eyes flashed, the first visible sign that perhaps he was not as composed as he wanted Aglarel to believe, but his answer was decidedly less volatile. "Yes, the phaerimm laid your people low in the initial assault, but not through any fault of mine – rather, I underestimated their hatred of your kind. Their minds were easily broken and I led them as easily as a shepherd leads his unassuming flock in the moments before we breached your security, but the moment they caught their first glimpse of unsuspecting, defenseless Shadovar wandering the streets…" He cut himself off then and allowed himself a brief smirk, somehow amused at the memory. "Needless to say that their irrational desire to kill every last one of you made them impossible to control. All I could do from that point on was make it seem as though I had intended to do such a thing from the very beginning."

"Instead of a potential ally, you let yourself be viewed as a potential threat," Aglarel summarized. "The only other way the High Prince would ever have taken notice of you."

Lim spread his hands helplessly. "Not ideal, but perhaps just as effective."

Aglarel stood there, his hands clenched at his sides, hating the lichdrow with every fiber of his being but still somehow awed into silence at all he had heard. Now that he understood the motivations behind Lim Tal'eyve's decisions he found that he didn't condone any of those decisions any more than he had before, but remembered that it wasn't his opinion that mattered anyway. He vowed to himself that he would do his best in the exceedingly dark days to come to serve as exceptional counsel to the High Prince, but begrudgingly accepted the fact that there was nothing he could now do to alter the course things were destined to take. He wasn't Hadrhune, content to serve the High Prince only when it seemed profitable for him – he was Fourth Prince Aglarel, favored half-devil son of Most High Telamont, and he owed his existence to his patron.

He would continue to serve his father no matter where doing so might lead him.

"The High Prince has agreed to take you up on your proposition," Aglarel confided at last, studying the lichdrow's face for even the barest hint of emotion, but Lim Tal'eyve had mastered himself now and gave nothing away. "He has charged me with coming here and recovering you, as well as bringing you back to Thultanthar straight away. I feel compelled to remind you, however, that once you cross the threshold into the City of Shade you exist completely at the pleasure and mercy of the High Prince – whatever he wills of you, you are bound to do. If you are willing to submit yourself to utter and complete servitude, to devote yourself to the High Prince's pursuits, and to aid Thultanthar in returning to the prominence it once enjoyed, he will bestow upon you power the likes of which you cannot even imagine. Do you still have a mind to serve him?"

Lim Tal'eyve's amber eyes burned within his dark face in perceived victory, and for his part Aglarel could only pray to Dark Lady Shar that the lichdrow would falter and be cast out sooner rather than later. The Fourth Prince and all of his brothers were among the most highly ambitious individuals residing within the City of Shade to date and were constantly warring amongst themselves for the High Prince's favor, but there was no place in the Empire of Shade for the kind of selfish, unadulterated lust for power he saw reflected in the lichdrow's eyes. It was the kind of all-consuming desire that could tear asunder bonds that were previously thought unbreakable, the kind of reckless ambition that could reduce an illustrious empire to fire and ash.

"I am," the wraith answered after a time, for it seemed he had needed a moment to contain his glee. "And I am prepared to do whatever is necessary to repay your sovereign for the unprecedented bounty he is about to bestow upon me."

Aglarel couldn't resist the temptation to impart one last menacing threat. "One of your inconsequential mortal lifetimes would never be enough."

Lim Tal'eyve took this remark in stride, though – he may even have anticipated it, for he was quick and sure with his reply. "But I will not be mortal for much longer, now will I?"

* * *

They left Aveil treading water and struggling feebly against the black arms that kept swiping at her, and as they started away it seemed to Aglarel that she had lost the will to fight back. Perhaps, he reasoned, that had been the High Prince's intention all along.

He had worried that returning to the Material Plane would be difficult since he had lost his temper and prematurely destroyed the Erinye that had borne him to the Abyss, but found soon enough that his concerns were unfounded; Lim hadn't been lying when he'd mentioned that the powers gifted to him by the Spider Queen had grown over the years, and once Aglarel mentioned that his brother Dethud had summoned a denizen of the Abyssal Plane to ferry him between dimensions Lim had only to ask where the summoning circle was located and they were off. Once they arrived Aglarel communed briefly with his brother, who had been dismissing lesser creatures from the portal while awaiting his return, and then they found themselves back in Thultanthar. Dethud managed to catch a fleeting glimpse of Lim Tal'eyve when they set foot in the necromancer's chamber, but comprehension hadn't dawned before Aglarel seized the lichdrow's arm and veritably dragged him into the Shadow Realm with him. The journey was a short one, and within a matter of moments they found themselves within the High Prince's audience chamber.

Telamont was standing at the world window with his back to them when they admitted themselves; Aglarel hissed an order for Lim to stay put at the bottommost stair of the short staircase that led up to the High Prince's throne before making his way forward, certain that his sovereign would want to receive him alone before he saw to their guest. The moment Aglarel had drawn level with his father Telamont put out one arm and bound his son to his side bracingly, and Aglarel found himself far less aggravated in Telamont's presence than he had been only seconds before.

"You have done very well," the High Prince assured in an undertone. "I am pleased that you have carried out my wishes, even though you are opposed to this arrangement."

"Holy Father," Aglarel protested at once, "I would never presume to – "

"I know your mind," Telamont overrode him, squeezing his shoulder briefly in a most reassuring way. "You have never been able to hide your true thoughts from me… none of your brothers have. But do not fret – I am not displeased. Your compliance in the face of your obvious discomfort assures me that I have done well in trusting these affairs to you – what's more, your abhorrence to this turn of events cautions me to be ever vigilant. I thank you for all that you have done – rest assured, your efforts do not go unnoticed."

Aglarel bowed low. "It is an honor to serve you, Holy Father."

"I have one final task for you, and then you will be dismissed for some well deserved rest." The High Prince indicated the world window with his free hand, and Aglarel found himself gazing down into the ghostly-pale face of Aveil Arthien once more. "The Archmistress grows weak… I feel that she has suffered enough. Go and collect her for me, won't you? You needn't return to the Abyss – you can pass through the gateway near the dias, through which you watched her disappear earlier. I will ask that you do not tarry – by my estimate she has very little time left before she expires, and I have use for her yet."

"I will see to it." Aglarel glanced over his shoulder then, to the place where Lim Tal'eyve was standing; it seemed the lichdrow hadn't moved a muscle since their arrival, his amber eyes fixed respectfully upon the floor. "Do you not require my presence while you bandy words with the lichdrow?"

Telamont rubbed his chin with his free hand, considering, but did not seem altogether concerned. "I don't think so. He has only just appeared in our midst… I cannot imagine that he will cause too much trouble so soon after his arrival, can you?"

"For his sake," Aglarel snickered, ducking out of Telamont's encircling arm and leading the way back toward the dias, "I sincerely hope not." Lim Tal'eyve was kneeling upon the smooth black marble floor by the time they completed their approach; Aglarel walked right up to him and held out one shadowy hand in a kind of wordless request, and when the lichdrow looked up at him quizzically the Fourth Prince clarified, "The ring, the one which contains the Archmistress's soul – give it to me."

"Oh, of course," Lim answered agreeably, and from the littlest finger of his left hand he removed a radiant silver band that wound intricately around a dark, trilliant-cut stone; this he laid upon the prince's open palm, and Aglarel closed his fist around it immediately.

"Be swift," Telamont urged him. "She isn't long for this world."

Aglarel moved a few paces away, to a point where the floor seemed a little less corporeal and he thought perhaps he could glimpse the shadow of movement just beneath the surface; as he watched the well-polished marble became less and less opaque until he could see the vague image of the swirling black pool of ravenous demon limbs far below him. He thought he could just make out a ghostly white figure in the middle of those tormented souls, but knew it could just as well be his imagination playing tricks on him. He was about to pitch himself forward into the dark void when the voice of his sovereign accosted him once again.

"Ocamel needn't have died," Telamont said softly, his tone somehow sympathetic. "There was no need for you to cause yourself such undue grief."

The Fourth Prince kept his eyes rooted carefully upon the mass of groping black appendages below and his face carefully neutral, for the Erinye's last words to him had unsettled him more than he had let on and he had no desire to allow the High Prince to see him in any such state of vulnerability. His reply was monotonous and lifeless, though when he looked back on it later he would wonder if it was a little too much so. "Her usefulness had run its course with us both."

Then he tensed his legs and leapt soundlessly into the distorted black void.

* * *

When he landed upon the soft black sand that served as the shore for the hellish pool he found that the demon claws had at last succeeded in dragging Aveil completely below the surface; he shed his cloak hurriedly before leaping headlong into the pool after her, fear gripping his shadow orb like a vice. If the Archmistress passed beyond the Veil after the High Prince had tasked him with retrieving her, the resulting punishment would be severe indeed.

The water was like ice; Aglarel couldn't help but marvel at Aveil's resilience, for the subzero temperatures would have killed most mortals within minutes but she had fought against the current and the souls entombed within for hours. The demon's cruel claws raked at him as he sliced through the water, tearing at his clothing and his flesh as he passed, but he paid them no heed.

Failure in this was not an option. He was starting to believe more and more that Aveil would prove to be an irreplaceable ally where Lim Tal'eyve was concerned.

He found the Archmistress floating lifelessly just a few inches beneath the surface on the opposite end of the pool; her lips were tinged with a sickly blue color and her hair drifted in heavy black curtains around her otherwise gaunt face. Aglarel seized her by the collar of her spellcaster's robes and pulled her against him as he broke the surface, and as he treaded water toward the black shore he thought he felt her arms twitch in response. He heaved her out of reach of the flailing demon limbs and dragged her up the shoreline to a dry patch of sand, and after only a few chest compressions he was supporting her as she spat out mouthfuls of icy black water.

When she had regained her bearings her violet eyes snapped open, seeking his, and her characteristic sarcasm was swift to return. "You might have taken me with you when you departed this place with Lim."

"I might have," Aglarel agreed, sitting back on his heels and surveying her with disdain. "And as a result, I may have incurred the High Prince's wrath. Better to leave you here until he made his wishes quite plain."

Aveil was wringing water out of her heavy sheet of ebony hair, her expression forbidding, but the effect was lost to the white pallor of her face and the way her fingertips trembled slightly. With a start, Aglarel realized just how close to death she had truly been. "Do you always do what the Most High tells you to do?"

Aglarel barked out a laugh. "To the letter."

"I thought as much." She was squeezing droplets of water out of the hem of her robes now, even as Aglarel trod up the shore to retrieve his shroud. As he was gathering the garment in his arms she called back, "I suppose it stands to reason that you have admitted my most hated enemy into your city by now."

"The Most High will decide what is to become of Lim Tal'eyve," Aglarel replied vaguely, and when he was close enough he tossed the shadowy cloak down beside her. "Wear that. If you don't dry soon your death will be of hypothermia and not by drowning, and I will not fail the Most High."

Aveil scoffed but took up the cloak nonetheless. "Turn around."

To her surprise the Fourth Prince readily agreed; he was certain he heard her huff irritably when his back was turned, and fought the urge to laugh. Perhaps she had hoped to lure him in with the sight of her naked flesh, but Aglarel had long been wise to her games and wouldn't allow himself to become so easily enticed. Only silence passed between them as Aveil changed, during which Aglarel reflected upon all that had occurred that day and how best he might assist his sovereign in the future, and when Aveil at last cleared her throat to get his attention he found that she had wound the cloak around her body like a strapless gown. It wasn't her most glamorous look, to be sure, but it would keep her alive until they returned to Thultanthar.

"Words cannot express my fury at the treatment I have suffered at the hands of you and your sovereign," Aveil spat passionately, setting her hands upon her hips and fixing him with a look that Aglarel supposed other mortals found quite intimidating – to him, her rage was most comical. "I have survived these tortures and these horrors, after I divulged all that you wished to know, and for what? To be dragged back to the City of Shade, where undoubtedly I will be subjected to more unpleasantries for the entertainment of the Princes of Shade? Is this all I can expect for my future?"

Aglarel approached her then and took her left hand in his right; their eyes met in that instant, and Aveil gasped in surprise and intrigue at his sudden close proximity. He held her gaze as he opened his other hand, warming the clammy, cold digits with his.

"That remains to be seen," he murmured, holding the band just millimeters from her slightly-trembling fingertips, relishing the hint of desperation as it crept back into her eyes. "Will you continue to oppose the High Prince at every turn? Will you meddle in the affairs of others, when common sense would dictate you do otherwise? Will you resist, and argue, and pursue your own ends regardless of the consequences that befall you? Or are you prepared to swallow a measure of that pride of yours, and allow yourself to be assimilated into a society far greater than any individual could ever hope to be alone?"

There was no mistaking the shock and wonder in Aveil's eyes as comprehension dawned in her face; it brought to mind the first rays of sunlight stretching across a once-lifeless expanse of earth, and for a moment Aglarel was powerless within her gaze. By now her hand within his had warmed somewhat, and on some impulse Aveil entwined their fingers boldly – rather than pull away Aglarel allowed this behavior, for what he saw in her eyes was the truest emotion that perhaps she had ever worn in his presence. All thoughts of deception and manipulation had flown from her, and there was only one word to describe just what he was seeing: it was hope.

She could have her life back. She could be allowed to live, to thrive even. There was a chance that she could have everything she had been searching for in all the long, perilous years of her life – power, prestige, wealth, comfort, influence, protection – if she only submitted herself to the higher power that was High Prince Telamont Tanthul.

Aglarel could see in her eyes that she was tired of running, tired of fighting – but perhaps most of all, she was tired of being alone.

She was ready.

"I am," she said at last, somehow overjoyed to breathe those two words, and with a triumphant smirk Aglarel wasted no time in slipping the ring onto her finger.

The effect was instantaneous; the vibrancy that Aveil seemed to have been missing since her brief sojourn to Manifest flooded her features in a sudden rush of color and vitality, bringing a rise of rosy color to her cheeks and the lustrous sheen back to her dark hair and the perpetual gleam of confidence and tenacity back into her stunning violet eyes. Her skin warmed as though the ring was breathing life back into a corpse, and as Aglarel watched her body became less and less translucent until she at last retained the consistency of a healthy mortal being. And for some reason that he could never quite explain Aglarel found that he felt privileged to be present in the moment that Aveil Arthien returned to life – perhaps it was her aura of subtle magic that influenced the thoughts and emotions of those around her in her favor, but he suspected it was more because he enjoyed her company far more than he had previously realized.

"Did the lichdrow keep his word?" Aglarel snarled in a suddenly malicious tone, and Aveil recoiled at the hostility in his voice and dropped his hand. "If you say that he has deceived you, it will be the first thing we report to the High Prince upon our return."

"No," Aveil was quick to say, lifting one hand up before her face and studying the familiar contours with new appreciation before she curled her fingers into a fist. "No, I feel… I feel like myself again. I feel as though the void I have been carrying within me these long weeks has at last been filled."

"Good," said Aglarel, crossing his arms over his chest and looking adamant. "I will admit to you now that I had rather hoped the Most High would send me back here to recover you, for I have ulterior motives for bringing you back to Thultanthar with me."

Aveil missed his meaning entirely at first, raising one suggestive eyebrow and cocking one shapely hip out to the side as she expertly shifted her weight. "Oh? What could you desire of me, I wonder?"

"You misunderstand." The Fourth Prince's eyes were glittering mutinously beneath his cowl, the only feature currently visible within his sinister shadow-swathed face. "What I desire of you is in no way personal… I mean to put to you a proposition that is strictly business." Seeing Aveil's expression darken and turn sour Aglarel could only laugh and continue, "May I also add that it will be mutually beneficial to us both, and will offer tremendous amounts of amusement in the event that we succeed."

"Go on," Aveil baited, seemingly a little more interested now.

"Oh, I won't share the particulars of my plan with you here – the details can wait until we are safe within the City of Shade, and will take many days for us to perfect before we set things in motion. For now I will say little – just enough to gain your attention." Aglarel paused long enough to grin down at her, the ivory tips of his ceremonial fangs clearly visible despite the inherent gloom of their surroundings, and Aveil felt a thrill of terror and anticipation course down her spine.

She knew, even then, that she would agree to take part in whatever it was he was about to attempt to enlist her in.

"I foresee dark, uncertain days upon the horizon for the Empire of Shade – days fraught with peril and adversity, where only the most ambitious and clever could possibly stand to gain. During this time the Most High will need eyes and ears on every corner, at the end of every avenue, in every crevice of every mundane corridor. As his son and his most loyal and faithful servant I am content to take up this role, but I do not think this is a task I would be wise to undertake alone. In this, I would like to enlist your aid. So tell me, Aveil Arthien – are you prepared to devote yourself fully to the service of Most High Telamont, knowing that in doing so you will inevitably find yourself at odds with Lim Tal'eyve?"

At the conclusion of Fourth Prince Aglarel's vague yet somehow telling proposition, Aveil found that there was only one thing she could say.

"I'm listening."


End file.
